Monthly Archives: February 2019

Muslim organization donates Rs 50 lakh to Kodagu flood victims

KARNATAKA :

Madikeri:

The Jamiat Ulema-e, a Muslim organization, on Thursday distributed Rs 50 lakh among nearly 350 . The funds were distributed at function organized by the organization at Kaveri Kalakshetra in Madikeri.
“Humanism is above religion and each one should cultivate humanity,” said Maulana Mufthi Ifthkar, president, Karnataka Jamiat Ulema-e.

Hajarath Maulana Mufthi Shamsuddin, secretary of the organization, said, “We have come forward to help the people in need and no religion will come in the way of this godly act.”

Download The Times of India for Latest

source: http://www.milbankmonitor.com / MilBankMonitor.com / Home> World News / by Milbank News Writer / February 06th, 2019

A testimony to broken dreams

Murshidabad, WEST BENGAL :

PhutiMasjidMPOs07feb2019

A journey through the ruins of Phuti Masjid, built by Sarfaraz Khan, in Murshidabad

It is difficult to imagine that Murshidabad, now a small, sleepy town in West Bengal, was among the richest courts of the 18th and 19th century. It hides many conspiracies, power brokers, pawns and fallen emperors in its heart.

One such fallen emperor was Sarfaraz Khan, the maternal grandson of Murshid Quli Khan, the founder of the city and the Nasiri dynasty. Nawab Murshid Quli Khan appointed Sarfaraz Khan as his successor before his death in 1727 as there was no direct heir to the throne. However, his son-in-law (Sarfaraz’s father) Shuja Khan frustrated Sarfaraz’s dreams. He felt that he had a bigger claim to the musnad, or the throne, of Murshidabad. Sarfaraz could only ascend the throne in 1739 with the title Alauddin Haider Jung.

A short-lived reign

But his problems did not stop there. The newly crowned Nawab fell out with his Wazir, Haji Ahmed. The Wazir won over the rich banker Jagat Seth Fateh Chand and Rai Rayan Chand and started plotting against the Nawab. Haji Ahmed invited Ali Vardi Khan, the Nawab Nazim of Bihar, to seek someone from the Mughal empire to replace Sarfaraz Khan. In the battle of Giria, Ali Vardi Khan defeated Sarfaraz Khan. The Musnad of Murshidabad, compiled by Purna Chandra Majumdar, mentions that the Jagat Seths suborned the Nawab’s men to place bricks and clods instead of cannon balls and fodder in Sarfaraz Khan’s magazine. Though the Nawab found out and gave charge of his artillery to a Portuguese, he was killed by a bullet as he rode out to battle on his elephant. Nawab Sarfaraz Khan ruled only for a year.

Inside Phuti Masjid

When I went to Murshidabad, I visited the grand mosques, palaces and imambaras constructed by the Nawabs who ruled for a longer time and in happier circumstances. But it was the Phuti Masjid that I found fascinating.

The mosque is quite large: 135 ft. long and 38 ft. wide with four cupolas at the corners. Only two of its five planned domes were completed. Dangerous looking spiral staircases lead up to the cupolas. As the builder died soon after construction began, the mosque was never completed. And so the name Phuti Masjid, or broken mosque. It is also known rather morbidly as Fouti Masjid. ‘Fout’ means death, and the name was apparently given after the builder’s death.

As I approached the mosque, I first saw brick walls surrounded by small cottages and fields on a dusty road. The walls were covered with moss. I went eastward, which is the direction in which people generally enter mosques. But I found to my dismay that the entrance was at a height and there were no steps leading up to it. My guide was young and he quickly climbed up. With his help, I somehow managed to scramble up the mud incline. I am glad that I did, for I immediately saw a huge hall and soaring arches. There was a sense of desolation, mystery and a strange undercurrent of spirituality in the mosque. An extremely religious and devout Nawab with money, power and resources had wanted to build a house of worship, yet no one ever prayed there. It was more like a scene from a horror movie: there was a semi-open roof, wild undergrowth, and trees and the sun rays peeped in through apertures. Just then I heard shrill voices. Two children from a nearby cottage, aged four and five, had clambered up to ask if they could be my guides!

One legend goes that this mosque was built in one night by Sarfaraz Khan. Another says that a number of workers toiled for several months to construct it. During roll call one day, it was found that one worker was not present. This happened a number of times and as the story became famous, the mysterious workman disappeared leaving his work incomplete and no one could match his skill. Both stories point to the hand of Djinns. Whatever be the truth, this broken structure is still standing despite all the odds, surrounded by houses, fields and hostile elements, a mute testimony to broken dreams.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Opinion> Columns – Where Stones Speak / by Rana Safvi / January 06th, 2019

Sabika Abbas Naqvi on the pedagogy of protest poetry

Lucknow, UTTAR PRADESH / Pune, MAHARASTHRA :

SabikaAbbasNaqviMPOs06feb2019

There’s an emerging subculture of poetry vocalising the difficulties of marginalised communities and individuals

We’ve seen many forms of protest poetry before but we merely haven’t put a definite label to it yet. We’ve seen this from the likes of Nikki Giovanni’s ‘Rosa Parks’, Jill McDonough’s ‘Dear Gaybashers’ and, of course, Maya Angelou’s ‘Caged Bird’.

Sabika Abbas Naqvi is no stranger to performance poetry. She describes protest poetry as a natural result of urban communities and the thriving interest in the arts. Hailing from Lucknow and residing in Pune, the 25-year-old has given a TEDx talk ‘Challenging The Order of Patriarchy’ and performed at Youth Ki Awaaz’s Convergence in 2016, as well as gearing up for a forthcoming one here this weekend at Lamakaan.

Over a phone call, the noisy bustle of traffic and people chatting is audible in the background as Sabika chats about the emergence of this poetry style.

“I’ve observed it’s come from the West,” she says, “and it’s new to India. India has a thriving spoken-word scene and these shows often have a lot to say. The thing is, the protest poetry I do comes from a different culture. It has a lot to do with the feminist movement of India and the other various movements related to farming communities and minorities. It’s not just about political progressive movements, it’s also about the language of progressive movements and resistances.”

Personal connect

For Sabika, especially, her initial approaches to poetry had a lot to do with resistance. She, too, realised that she’d been listening to different kinds of protest poetry and she’d long been part of the movement. “It’s mainly the culture and the styles too. In terms of style, I wouldn’t say I’m a purist. Slam poetry, on the other hand, has a lot of progressive approaches. I don’t know! It’s hard to compartmentalise these styles but you know they’re different.”

Sabika does point out that part of her performance signature is that she performs on the streets. So it’s natural to wonder if it’s safe as heckling is a direct bi-product of this art type. “It happens, but I do get a lot of appreciation and that’s what really makes it worth it. And I know this is where I belong.” The association between poetry and revolutions has been analysed over and over by linguistic and social science experts but the only way to really grasp the messages of protest poetry is by attending these expressive performances.

The most compelling part of protest poetry for Sabika is that she’s grown as a performer and creator with the courage imbibed into her. “While the poetry does have forms of protest in them, I’m also protesting the existing types of poetry, essentially questioning a certain metre in which poetry is expected to be written. A lot of people do question how dare I speak in these metres and so on. Not everyone will like my form of poetry. In that sense, doing it on the streets is a protest in itself! Women, gender non-conforming individuals, those of a particular caste and so on are in public spaces, so vocalising is important.”

Protest poetry in online spaces thrive differently, according to Sabika who says the responses come in waves. “Online it’s easy to react to poetry with an anonymity but in person when I perform publicly, I see the tangible responses and reactions and I engage after when people come up to me after. I can see my audience but I don’t know their names… but they’re there. And they don’t attack me and I haven’t ever been attacked in person. But when I share a video, I have received hate messages, threats and comments. Online spaces do open up for potential abuse. I really enjoy seeing my poetry online but there is a danger attached to it.”

To balance all this emotional uproar, Sabika admits she indulges in comedy every once in a while. “My friends, the ones who really know me, say I should try stand-up,” she chuckles, “But people who see me for the first time see I’m quite serious, so they’d never think it would be an interest of mine remotely!”

I then ask Sabika, who’s spoken so much about poetry and its value by now, ‘where would she be without poetry?’ She pauses, surprised, finally responding, “You know what? I don’t know.”

Sabika’s protest poetry performance will be at Lamakaan on February 9 at 7pm

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Theatre / by Divya Kala Bhavani / February 06th, 2019

From a child labourer to an award-winning translator

Colachel (Kanyakumari ), TAMIL NADU :

KulachalYousufMPOs06feb2019

Kulachal Mu. Yoosuf bagged the Sahitya Akademi Translation Prize for 2018

It has been an arduous journey from a child labourer to the winner of the Sahitya Akademi Translation Prize 2018 for Kulachal Mu. Yoosuf, 60. His translation of Malayalam writer G.R. Indugopan’s Maniyan Pillaiyuda Athma Katha into Tirudan Manian Pillai in the Tamil has won him the distinction. The story has already been made into the successful Malayalam film Kallante Katha.

The laurels have arrived not a moment too soon. Mr. Yoosuf was forced to discontinue his studies after Class V when his family fell on hard times. bad days. A passion for reading, picked up in school, stayed with him. “There was a library run by the Hindu Ilaignar Iyakkam in my native town of Colachel. I sat in the library and read while other students played,” says Mr. Yoosuf, who became a child labourer when his family moved to Kanniyakumari.

Malayalam language and literature arrived serendipitously while he worked in a provisions shop in Nagercoil.

Tamil and Malayalam

“Customers would sell old books for raddi and among them were Malayalam books. I would read them. I was fascinated by Vaikom Muhammad Basheer’s short stories. One customer suggested that I should read them in Malayalam and I followed his advice,” recalls Mr. Yoosuf. Gradually, he gained mastery over the Malayalam language. “The sentence patterns are similar in Malayalam and Tamil. If there were a cinema poster, I would stop for a second to read it,” laughs Mr. Yoosuf.

He recalls that books on revolutionary movements like the Punnapura-Vayalar upsurge in Kerala, the life of naxal leader Ajitha, and Basheer’s works, motivated him to learn Malayalam with greater determination. His first article supported the Supreme Court verdict in the Shah Bano case.

As he gained confidence, Mr. Yoosuf tried his hand at translation. His first work was a translation of Sahitya Akademi-winner Punathil Kunjabdulla’s Smarakashilakal into Tamil as Meesan Karkal in 2004.

Over time, he translated more than 30 works, particularly by Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, from Malayalam into Tamil.

“Even though there were [other] translations, friends, particularly [publisher] ‘Kalachuvadu’ Kannan, were particular that I translate Basheer’s works. I have translated his [Basheer’s] short stories, novels and letters,” says Mr. Yoosuf.

His translations restored the legendary writer’s fame among Tamil readers.

Other important works

His translation of M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s Naalukettu as Naalukettu and Nalini Jameela’s autobiography as Oru Paaliyal Thozhilaliyin Kathai, and the rendering in Tamil of the autobiography of social activist K. Ajitha were other important turning points. Mr. Yoosuf has written a detailed book on the Great Poets of Persia, Paarasika Mahakavikal, and taken Tamil Sangam works to readers in Malayalam.

“My translation of Naladiyar [post-Sangam Tamil poetic work] was appropriated by a writer from Kerala. I sent it to a writer to read the proof, but another writer published it in his name. I have filed a case,” he says.

When asked what it means to be a full-time writer, Mr. Yoosuf says, “Literature cannot be considered a revenue-generating venture.”

He adds, “I have a good publisher and they are paying me well. Literature never leaves me poor.”

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by B. Kolappan / Chennai – February 05th, 2019

Kerala Arabic Academy to publish football directory

Thiruvananthapuram , KERALA :

The academy is running various programmes for promotion of Urdu, Arabic, Konkani and Tamil languages.

Malappuram  :

Malappuram’s soccer craze is set to receive yet another recognition. Kerala Arabic Academy has stepped in with a plan to bring out a comprehensive football directory. The directory ‘Malappuram’s football grandeur’,  will have all details of academies, coaching centres and tournaments taking place across the district.

“The district is known for its love for the game and the directory is a befitting gift to people in Malappuram,” said Academy chairman Shanavas Abdul Gafoor. Based in Thiruvananthapuram, the academy is functioning for the promotion of languages and local culture. The academy is running various programmes for promotion of Urdu, Arabic, Konkani and Tamil languages.

Apart from details of clubs, organisations and tournaments, the directory will give space for football players, former players, events and families that contributed to the promotion of football in Malappuram. In addition to the photos and contacts of individuals, clubs and organisations, the directory will feature
their brief history.

The major attraction is the ‘sevens calendar’ that will help football enthusiasts to get information about major sevens tournaments and their time. Academy organisers have started efforts to collect details from clubs and football lovers. Publication work of the directory is expected to be started by March.

source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> States> Kerala / by Shafeeq Alingul – Express News Service / February 04th, 2019

Mohammed Shami India’s standout performer in the last five months, says coach Ravi Shastri

Amroha, UTTAR PRADESH :

India beat New Zealand by 35 runs in the final match of the series in Wellington.

AFP
AFP

India coach Ravi Shastri heaped praise on pacer Mohammad Shami following his player-of-the-series display to lead the visitors’s to a 4-1 win over New Zealand in the five-match One-Day International series.

A year ago, Shami failed the yo-yo fitness test but bounced back in style with his bowling coming for high praise during India’s overseas tours since the start of 2018.

“If there is one man I have to single out over the last five months or so, it’s Mohammad Shami,” Shastri told broadcasters Star Sports after his side defeated the Kiwis by 35 runs in Wellington.

“He got a kick up the backside after failing the yo-yo test. He went back, did the hard yards, came back fit and has not broken down since. He has been outstanding, that too across all formats.

“In the morning, he was telling [bowling coach] Bharat Arun that Anderson’s seam position is like this….another bowler’s is like that. Arun told him ‘look at your seam presentation. People around the world are taking notice of you, and don’t try to imitate anyone’,” Shastri said.

Hardik Pandya, who made a successful return to the team following his brief suspension, was also lauded for his performance. The all-rounder smashed a quick-fire 45 before picking up a couple of wickets with the ball. The rescue act, though, was kick-started by Ambati Rayudu’s 90, rescuing his side from a precarious 18/4.

“Hardik is a natural talent and a match-winner,” Shastri said. “Those 20-30 runs with the bat made the difference.

“Rayudu played really well today. This was the toughest of all the five matches. From 18/4 to going on to win the game. He batted like a millionaire in the last game and he was told that. The way he came out to today was commendable.”

As for the road to the World Cup in June, the 56-year-old said that there are still places up for grabs. He, however, hinted at resting some of India’s senior players for the Australia ODI series at home.

“There would still be one or two places we would be looking at. In general, the team picks itself,” he said. “What you want is the team not losing form with five games to go for the World Cup. You, in fact, should grab every opportunity you get and make the most of it.

“Now, Shami would need a break – he has had a long season. Shikhar [Dhawan], Rohit [Sharma] could get a break as well.”

India’s first-choice top-three of Sharma, Dhawan, and Kohli have been imperious with the bat. The coach warned that the law of averages would catch up with his team at some point.

“You are bound to lose a couple of wickets,” Shastri said, when asked about India’s top-order collapse in the final ODI. “There could be days like the last two [matches], where you lose your top order early. Respect the conditions, see off the new ball; see off Trent Boult’s early spell. Look at Vijay Shankar…he came across as a guy with very good temperament.”

India now play New Zealand in a three-match Twenty20 series.

source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> The Field> India in New Zealand 2019 / by Scroll Staff / February 03rd, 2019

For the love of Urdu

Mumbai, MAHARASHTRA :

Nasheet Shadani, founder of social media platform Ishq Urdu. Photo: Ramesh Pathania
Nasheet Shadani, founder of social media platform Ishq Urdu. Photo: Ramesh Pathania
  • It’s got tehzeeb, romance and nuance, drawing a growing number of urban Indians to it
  • Urdu is in our lives even if we don’t realize it. But it is only recently that this love for the sound of Urdu has extended to its script

It’s on a Tuesday evening in January, under a canopy of incandescent bulbs, that I receive my first lesson in Urdu: the difference between alcohol and mirages.I am part of a small mehfil gathered in the courtyard of Prithvi Theatre in Mumbai. People greet each other with adaab, and the bonhomie that strangers share is palpable.

In this session of a monthly Urdu meet-up called Mehfil@Prithvi, we are listening to people read ghazals and nazms by the late Pakistani poet Fahmida Riaz. She lived in exile in India for almost seven years during Zia-ul-Haq’s rule, and died in November in Lahore. Riaz wrote heart-wrenching lines on female desire and communalism, such as:

Sarab hun mein

Teri pyaas kya bujhaungi

Urdu scholar Ilyas Shauqi, who delivers the lines at the mehfil, explains to me later that sarab means mirage, an illusion, and is often mistaken by non-Urdu speakers for sharab, or alcohol. “Urdu is like this—you have to pay attention to the pronunciation,” he adds.

Such is my introduction to Urdu, a language that appears to conceal more than it reveals. Writer Annie Zaidi, who often leads the Mehfil@Prithvi sessions, says that while Urdu runs in her family, she learnt to write the Nasta‘līq script as recently as 2017. Annie’s motivation was access, both to the past and the present. “I always wanted to know more about Urdu literature, and there is only so much that you can understand through transliterations. Besides, my grandfather (Ali Jawad Zaidi) is an Urdu writer, and it was a shame that I couldn’t read his works in the original. Urdu should have been my mother tongue but, as things stand, I am more fluent in Hindi,” she says.

Despite her familiarity with spoken Urdu, the experience of learning the script was nothing short of confounding. She says, “The ligature—the manner in which letters bond with each other in Urdu—was particularly tough. The letters change shape as they form a word and very few phonetic cues are used. I had a friend teach me that over WhatsApp.”

Urdu’s idiosyncrasies are both its charm and challenge, as a growing number of newly forged admirers among urban Indians will testify.

According to 2011 census data on mother tongues released last year, Urdu dropped from sixth to seventh position, showing a drop of 1.58%. The only other language to record a fall was Konkani. Yet Urdu has found new takers. Many of them are spurred on by an interest to read Urdu texts in the original, rather than translations or transliterations. Some want to learn the script for research, for design, or to write poetry. For others, like Annie, it is the chance to revisit their roots. In this mix are non-Muslims, non-Urdu-speaking Muslims, and Urdu-speaking Muslims who never learnt the language formally.

The country’s non-Urdu-speaking population has been nourished for a long time on a literary diet of some of the best prose, poetry and lyrics that the language offers. Bollywood songs, theatre, even the stray couplets that break the monotony of endless Twitter feed scrolls—Urdu is in our lives even if we don’t realize or acknowledge it. But it is only recently that this love for the sound of Urdu has extended to its script as well. Mumbai-based theatre practitioner Danish Husain, who curates the monthly Mehfil@Prithvi and is known for his dastangoi performances, says that while the interest in Urdu has always been there, what he has seen in the last couple of years is “the interest in the text”, whether it’s people reading works intently or dramatizing them.

The revival is linked to the proliferation of online portals and Urdu-themed events in urban centres, such as shayari clubs, Urdu readings and calligraphy classes. Prominent among them is the Noida-based Rekhta Foundation. Through its website Rekhta.org, it offers an Urdu word-of-the-day along with a dictionary (also delivered to users on WhatsApp); offline, it organizes one of the biggest Urdu festivals in the country, Jashn-e-Rekhta. The festival, which debuted in Delhi in 2015, saw over 15,000 visitors; in 2018, the numbers rose to 170,000 (figures from the Rekhta Foundation ).

Visitors at a Sufi concert by the Nooran Sisters at Jashn-e-Rekhta in December. Photo: Rekhta
Visitors at a Sufi concert by the Nooran Sisters at Jashn-e-Rekhta in December. Photo: Rekhta

In 2017, following multiple requests from festival attendees and online users, the foundation started a beginner’s Urdu course, with calligraphy and poetry appreciation thrown in for good measure. Simultaneously, it also launched an online education portal, Aamozish.com, through which 35,000 people have studied Urdu so far.

Sarover Zaidi, an anthropologist based out of Mumbai and Delhi who works on religion, architecture and social spaces, believes this growing interest in Urdu is a natural progression of the impact of social media and online resources, which have provided people with more access to the script, something that wouldn’t have been easy even a decade ago. “A large number of people have always been interested in Urdu—even those who did not grow up in cultures where Urdu was accessible. But more people are now responding to it, whether it is their interest in the poetry, literature, or the culture it represents—they are interested in the poetics and politics of it. They want to make a statement,” she says.

Writing or drawing?

To explore what’s driving urban Indians to the language, I attended an Urdu calligraphy workshop at Mumbai’s Tarq gallery in December. I realized that learning Urdu through the calligraphic Nasta‘līq script requires nothing less than absolute dedication.

Graphic designer, muralist and typographer Zeenat Kulavoor. Photo: Abhijit Bhatlekar/Mint
Graphic designer, muralist and typographer Zeenat Kulavoor. Photo: Abhijit Bhatlekar/Mint

The workshop was conducted by Zeenat Kulavoor, a 30-year-old graphic designer and typographer, who has created two murals in Urdu. Both were made in 2017, on the premises of a repurposed mill in Mumbai. One of them is “pehle aap“, evoking the Lakhnavi tehzeeb—the courteous mannerisms once associated with Lucknow. The other mural bears stirring verses that only the mind of poet Nida Fazli—a Padma Shri awardee and staunch critic of the Partition—could have conjured up. As a muralist, Kulavoor refers to the characteristics of not just Urdu but of the cultures that use this language. The reason people are learning Urdu is almost the reason why some of us study French in India—we also consume the culture the language represents.

Kulavoor started learning Urdu at the Sir JJ School of Art in 2008, when she was part of a class project on creating a calligraphy manual. “We had to choose a language from those printed on the Indian currency note. Creating the manual meant understanding the script, breaking it down and then showing users the steps to write the script,” recalls Kulavoor. She arrived late for class, and the other languages were taken, leaving only Urdu. “That’s how Urdu found me,” she says.

Kulavoor tried to find an Urdu mentor—but on the internet, the only available resource she could find at the time was a bunch of videos on Arabic calligraphy.

A decade later, she decided to organize workshops focusing not on linguistics but on the form and design elements of the Urdu alphabet. For most of the participants at her 6-hour, beginner-level workshops were looking for something specific—designing calligrams for their projects, for instance.

Entering the world of Urdu calligraphy, however, means unlearning. One of the participants had been meditatively painting a series of be—the second letter of the Urdu alphabet—but realized much later that instead of going from right to left, as Urdu demands, she had been writing instinctively left to right.

Keeping the language alive

Kulavoor’s calligraphy classes come at a time when the generation of veteran kaatibs (calligraphers), the ones who populated Old Delhi’s lanes and Mohammed Ali Road in Mumbai, is fading. On 30 January, one such noted figure, Shilp Guru Irshad Hussain Farooqi, a resident of Delhi, died.

Zeenat Kulavoor taking participants through Urdu calligraphy at her workshop in December at the Tarq gallery, Mumbai. Aniruddha Chowdhury/Mint
Zeenat Kulavoor taking participants through Urdu calligraphy at her workshop in December at the Tarq gallery, Mumbai. Aniruddha Chowdhury/Mint

Shipra Dutta, 45, got reacquainted with Urdu to save a family legacy. Dutta is a fourth-generation calligrapher—her great-grandfather served as an accountant in the court of Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. The story in her family is that he was chosen to maintain the accounts not because of his mathematical skills, but rather for his penmanship in mahajani (a mercantile script) and thuluth (an Islamic calligraphic script). When Dutta was offered the chance to calligraph a set of Urdu poems for a Kashmiri pashmina-weaver, she realized she also wished to learn what the words meant. “Urdu is led through the qalam (pen), and there is a visual pleasure in watching it move on paper. It is essentially a dance of hairline strokes and thick strokes, a jugalbandi,” she says.

A similar interest drew Dhwani Shah, a 31-year-old designer for publisher Tara Books. She signed up in October for Inktober, an annual Instagram hashtag series in which users respond to a word prompt through visual interpretations. Shah drew Urdu translations of the English prompts. She picked up Urdu as a hobby while studying design at Bhasha Bhavan in Gujarat Vidyapeeth, Ahmedabad. Now based out of Chennai, she believes the only way she can keep her interest alive is to go old school—handwritten letters. She is a member of Quillpal.com, a site that helps people make pen pals in the age of blue ticks and DMs. Shah wanted to write her letters in Urdu, and Quillpal luckily matched her with a pen pal fluent in the language.

As with her writing, Shah also tries to infuse her everyday conversations with a dose of Urdu. “Urdu has several words that are poetic and beautiful, but I try to use ordinary words like mehez (merely), fizool (useless), zikr (mention). I can sneak them into conversations without sounding pompous,” she says.

While calligraphy is one means of popularizing the script, its greatest presence is in the digital form. Urdu printing presses have been on the decline, and have been replaced by a number of apps and digital tools that enable people to type away in Urdu on devices. Nasheet Shadani, a 32-year-old Delhi-based advertising professional, has taken it a step further, harnessing the power of memes to convey some fun facts about Urdu. “People are still learning Urdu in a very 1970s method and I want to make it more contemporary,” says Shadani.

In 2015, he started a social media project called Ishq Urdu, which mainly operates through Instagram and Facebook. Look it up and you will find some thought-provoking posts—what would Bollywood dialogues be without Urdu? Could “Mogambo prasann hua?” ever have the same effect as “Mogambo khush hua?

Shadani’s latest venture introduces the Urdu alphabet to his general audience through a unique series of posts. On a background of pop colours, he designs phrases such as “Hey, what’s up?” or “Good afternoon” where “hey” and “noon” are, in fact, Urdu alphabets. It’s a simple but smart mnemonic device that he prints on a limited edition series of badges and T-shirts.

Delhi-based historian and scholar Rana Safvi, whose eponymous blog is a great resource for all things Urdu, says: “Urdu uses the same grammar as Hindi. Not that of Farsi.” In her blogpost “My Name Is Urdu And I Am Not A Muslim”, Safvi traces the evolution of the language and recalls Australian linguist Peter Austin’s observation that “Urdu and Hindi have the same roots in the emerging Indo-Aryan language varieties spoken in an area centred on Delhi, and specially the variety called Khari Boli, which spread throughout India under the Muslim armies of the Delhi Sultanate (13th to 15th century).”

In present-day India, Safvi notes: “Associated as it is in people’s eyes with Muslims, it has become nothing but a trap for vote-bank politics, unkept promises and empty dreams. The only silver lining is that it still lives in the hearts of many across religious lines, in our Hindi films and TV serials, the crowds flocking to mushairas, and the number of sites which provide SMS lines on the internet. ”

Love it, hate it

So, what’s the culture that Urdu signifies? That of a genteel past or a polarized present?

The recent Twitter hashtag movement #MyNameinUrdudrew attention to a prevalent prejudice against the Urdu script. Using this hashtag, Twitter handles sported user names in Urdu—many among them non-Urdu speakers. It was a statement against communal hatred and incessant trolling, but there was a catch—the Google transliteration app didn’t always succeed accurately. Those familiar with Urdu came forward on Twitter to do the job instead.

In 2016, signboard painter Akhlaq Ahmad and French street artist Swen Simon were forced by a small group of people in Delhi to deface their mural of an Urdu couplet in praise of the city. Their lines read: Dilli tera ujadna, aur phir ujad ke basna. Woh dil hai toone paya, sani nahi hai jiska. It sounds like Hindi, except it was written in Urdu. The group reportedly questioned the artists’ Nasta’līq script and asked them to replace it with the words “Swachh Bharat Abhiyan” and “Narendra Modi”, in Hindi. They labelled the artists “Lahoris”.

The Delhi government, however, has been attempting to promote Urdu. In November, it held Jashn-e-Virasat, a celebration of tehzeeb, with the support of the Urdu Academy. Previously held at Jama Masjid, Old Delhi, this edition took place at Central Park in Connaught Place, a location which brought the event, and the language, closer to a cosmopolitan crowd. But Asad Ashraf, the founder of a community project called Karvaan India, is attempting the reverse—getting people closer to the localities where Urdu is used.

Karvaan’s office, situated in Delhi’s Ghaffar Manzil, a Muslim-dominated area, houses a library and a workspace for creative professionals, writers and “fellow travellers”. In the past year, Karvaan has increased its programming, focusing on topics pertinent to its immediate community, such as the ghettoization of Muslims and talaq, while also opening its doors to a wider public.

It is with the same intent that Ashraf launched Urdu Hai Jiska Naam last year. The title of the weekend classes comes from a famous sher by Urdu poet Dagh Dehlvi. Last year, 35 participants enrolled in the class. This year, there were 300 applicants, but Karvaan has resources enough to register only 100, despite doubling batches. Of these, only eight are Muslims.

The class is conducted by entrepreneur Tanzil Rahman, an Indian Institute of Management Bangalore graduate. He recalls the time when he was first taught the Urdu alphabet in school. “We practised on a wooden plank which functioned as a slate called a takhti, as big as two MacBooks placed side-by-side. On this, we wrote the alphabet in ink. We did this before we switched to paper because kushkhat, or neat handwriting, is very important,” he explains.

As an Urdu mentor, Rahman’s method is different. He prefers to keep the course functional and contemporary, and helps participants recognize Urdu in its popular usage, from film dialogue to signboards at railway stations. “Take Nizamuddin station, for example. Isn’t the iconic yellow signboard a great way to learn how Nizamuddin is written in Urdu?” he says. He delves a little further into the intricacies of Urdu, the manner in which vowel sounds are dropped and how you understand words by contextualizing them.

He says Urdu is taught now only in some public schools but rarely in private schools. “So people have to make use of independent courses like these. The classes are useful also for Muslims whose mother tongue is Urdu because while many may speak the language, not all know how to write it,” he adds.

Savio Pashana, 30, a designer and a spoken word performer, is part of a growing circle of spoken word poets in Thane who organize performances under the banner of Poetry Tuesday. Some of the members performed their Urdu pieces in January at the Spoken Fest in Mumbai. “The biggest disservice we have done to the language is to give it a homeland in Pakistan alone. But think about it—Bhagat Singh wrote letters to his family in Urdu,” he says.

Urdu was once used extensively by Hindus as well as Muslims, and even the British, though it may be mainly Muslim communities that are keeping it alive on a daily basis today. By encouraging participants to come closer to minority communities that still use Urdu as their mother tongue, Karvaan is suggesting that the secularization of Urdu need not mean that it makes Muslims invisible.

Shaikh Aquil Ahmad, director of the National Council for the Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL) in Delhi, says, “People are not learning it for religious reasons alone. It’s because Urdu zubaan mein behad mithaas hai (it is a very sweet language).”

Beyond the politics

“A nukta can make a huge difference,” says Mumbai resident Shirlyn Galbao, 44, referring to the wily dot that is the cornerstone of the Urdu alphabet. Galbao says she was already familiar with the lilt of Urdu, but the urge to master the language was driven by two sources—her job as a voice-over artist and a monthly baithak. Galbao wished to perfect her talafuz (pronunciation), particularly because several Hindi commercials, especially on radio, are sprinkled with Urdu words. Her search led her to Katha Kathan.

Katha Kathan, a series of dramatized readings of Urdu’s best literary names, was initiated by former ad-man Jameel Gulrays, after he felt the need to share Urdu’s literary wealth in a time when it is being offered in fewer schools across India as a second language—they would rather offer French, German, even Japanese. Gulrays has translated several short stories by Urdu writers.

He disliked the Nandita Das film Manto, finding it an inauthentic representation of the Urdu writer, and chooses to commemorate the writer across baithaks—celebrating Manto’s “Bambai”, his short stories and his Marathi translations. Gulrays’ readings are available on YouTube; he has made 1,200 videos so far.

Galbao started with these baithaks and eventually found a mentor in Gulrays, who teaches with a blackboard and a list of primary school textbooks, and recommends reading Urdu newspapers. Galbao has piles of Urdu newspapers, which never fail to catch the attention of her friends. “My Muslim friends don’t speak Urdu and often wonder if I will teach them Urdu when they see the newspapers,” she laughs, adding that some acquaintances have asked her why a Catholic should wish to study an “Islamic” language.

As Shadani says, a revival need not be literary or political. Sometimes, a college student may want to study Urdu simply to flaunt it, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. As Ahmad says, “Urdu is mohabbat ki zubaan—the language of love.”

Urdu in your city

1. The National Council for the Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL) offers a free diploma as well as certificate courses in Urdu in 1,359 centres across India. It has been systematically scaling up centres; currently, 57,301 students have registered for these courses. Additionally, the NCPUL offers calligraphy classes at select centres.

Urducouncil.nic.in

2. The Zabaan Language Institute at Kailash Colony, Delhi, offers two courses in Urdu reading and writing, a basic and a secondary. It also offers home tutors for private classes if you are willing to pay travel costs.

Zabaan.com; 011-40564840

3. The Hindustani Prachar Sabha at Charni Road, Mumbai, offers three levels of programmes. The basic beginner’s certificate is an year-long course.

Hindustanipracharsabha.org; 022-22812871

4. Kitab Khana, one of Mumbai’s largest book stores, has a modest shelf dedicated to Urdu writing. You can browse through it, and if you spot co-owner Samir Somaiya around this section, don’t be surprised. In 2017, Somaiya learnt Urdu from a mentor who also advises the store on the Urdu titles they should be stocking.

Kitabkhana.in; 022-61702276

5. What Che Guevara was to T-shirts in the 20th century, the late poet Jaun Eliya is to Urdu lovers. Sample these and other contemporary designs, all dedicated to Urdu luminaries, at Shiraz Husain’s Khwaab Tanha Collective.

@khwaabtanhacollective on Facebook

6. On Twitter, @Rekhta and Rana Safvi’s @urdualfaz are dedicated to teaching Urdu, one word at a time. You may also want to check out @TimeUrdu, a linguistic project that promotes the language.

source: http://www.livemint.com / Live Mint / Home> Latest> Trending> My Reads / by Benita Fernando / February 03rd, 2019

AIPTA to begin quest for Hyderabad’s forgotten Persian past

Aligarh, UTTAR PRADESH / Hyderabad, TELANGANA :

Before the arrival of British and English becoming the official language of our country, Persian held the official status in the court and administration.

Hyderabad :

Hyderabadis are in the know of the city’s long tryst with Iranian language and culture. However, it is a lesser-known fact that both the city and areas under the erstwhile Deccan region are home to a large number of Persian literary works as well.

In order to fill this gap, the All India Persian Teachers Association (AIPTA) has initiated works to document the Persian literary works from Deccan region, starting with Hyderabad. The plan is to start scourging the most important repositories of Hyderabad, like Oriental Manuscripts and Research Institute, Salar Jung Museum and State Archives.

Prof Azarmi Dukht Safavi, founder director of the Institute of Persian Research at Aligarh Muslim University and AIPTA-President, speaking to Express said, the catalogue thus created will also have introductory notes on each work. Once done, this catalogue will prove useful for Persian scholars to work on, translate and publish them.

Before the arrival of British and English becoming the official language of our country, Persian held the official status in the court and administration. It heavily influenced many local languages, including Urdu dialect of Hindustani, Punjabi, Sindhi, Hindi, Marathi, Gujarati and Bengali.

Prof Shahid Naukhez Azmi, head of Persian department at Maulana Azad National Urdu University (MANUU) and local secretary of AIPTA, points out that a majority of Persian literary works studied in India at the moment belong to the Mughal period.

However, the Bahmani empire in the Deccan were great patrons of Persian literature, culture and art. This trend continued under the rule of successive dynasties.
It may be mentioned here that AIPTA is organizing its 36th conference in Hyderabad at MANUU from February 5-7 with the theme, ‘Contribution of Deccan to the Persian Language and Literature’.

source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Cities> Hyderabad / by  V. Nilesh – Express News Service / February 03rd, 2019

Fahadh Faasil mindblown by ‘Super Deluxe’

Alappuzha, KERALA :

Exclusive Still: Fahadh Faasil in Super Deluxe | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement
Exclusive Still: Fahadh Faasil in Super Deluxe | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Fahadh Faasil tells Sundaylite about the influence of Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s Aaranya Kaandam on his career and the experience of working with him in Super Deluxe

A lifeline. That’s what Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s 2011 gangster drama, Aaranya Kaandam, was for Fahadh Faasil.

The noughties weren’t kind on the Malayalam actor — his 2002 début, Kaiyethum Doorathu, directed by his father and acclaimed director Fazil, sank without a trace, prompting him to take a break and pursue his studies in the US. Seven years later, when he returned, it was to cameos and small roles. “I wasn’t really sure about the kind of films I wanted to be a part of. That’s when I saw Aaranya Kaandam,” he shares. “I was stunned; it was such a stylish film. It made me stay (in films). It was crucial in moulding me as an actor.”

Exclusive Still: Fahadh Faasil’s look from Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s ‘Super Deluxe’ | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement
Exclusive Still: Fahadh Faasil’s look from Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s ‘Super Deluxe’ | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Now, life’s coming full circle. This year, the actor, who is in his mid-30s, will feature in Kumararaja’s second directorial venture, Super Deluxe. “Working with (Kumararaja) was a mindblowing experience. It was the best way to craft myself,” he says. The film’s cast includes Vijay Sethupathy, Samantha Akkineni, Ramya Krishnan and director Mysskin.

Breaking with the norm

In the eight years since he watched Aaranya Kaandam, Fahadh’s career has gone from strength to strength. He is a National Award winner, bagging best supporting actor for his portrayal of a thief in the critically-acclaimed Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum. Films like 22 Female KottayamNorth 24 KaathamAnnayum RasoolumCarbon and Njan Prakashan show an actor willing to take on an unconventional script. His ability to ‘shapeshift’ is what enouraged filmmaker Sathyan Anthikad to cast him in Njan Prakashan. “The changes that Fahadh brings to his appearances through his eyes and demeanour are sheer magic. He looks so normal (in person) but these characters make him different,” says Anthikad.

________________________________________

Shapeshifter

  • Fahadh’s ability to ‘shapeshift’ encouraged filmmaker Sathyan Anthikad to cast him in Njan Prakashan. The director admits that had it been a different decade, he’d have chosen Mohanlal. “The changes that Fahadh brings to his appearances through his eyes and demeanour are sheer magic. He looks so normal (in person) but these characters make him different. Remember, he shot for Varathan and Njan Prakashan within months of each other,” says Anthikad.

_________________________________________

Quiz Fahadh about the work that goes behind his method acting and he clarifies, “There’s no deliberate effort (from me) as a performer to be unconventional. The characters I portray are an extension of what I’ve seen, heard or read, and so what you see in my films are how I understand life. What I look for in a project is whether the storyline excites me.”

Super Deluxe — which explores the lives of 10 characters — has left him wondering how he can push the boundaries of acting further. “Maybe it is time for me to move to the next level. I need to start doing something new, different to what I’ve been doing so far,” he says, leaving us guessing.

When i saw Aaranya Kaandam, I was stunned. It was such a stylish film and was crucial in moulding me as an actor Fahadh Faasil

A full roster

Fahadh is generally hesitant to accept films from languages other than Malayalam. The only exception has been the Sivakarthikeyan-starrer Velaikkaran, which he says was a “wonderful experience”. He was to be a part of Mani Ratnam’s Chekka Chivantha Vaanam, but opted out due to scheduling conflicts.

Fahadh03MPOs03feb2019

But his star continues to shine closer home. He is shooting for an anthology flick, Trance, directed by Anwar Rasheed, and has wrapped up shoot for an as-yet-untitled flick alongside Sai Pallavi. He will be seen next in Madhu C Narayanan’s Kumbalangi Nights, which he co-produced with his wife, actor Nazriya Nazim. He is also expected to be part of Aashiq Abu’s multi-starrer medical drama, Virus.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Movies / by Vijay George / February 03rd, 2019

The zamindar of Laksam

UNDIVIDED BENGAL / current day BANGLADESH :

BegumFaizenussisaMPOs03feb2019

So famous did the zamindar, a descendant of the Timurid dynasty from which the ruling Mughals derived become, in work to develop female education and other issues of social deprivation of women in the latter half of the 19th century, that Her Imperial Majesty Victoria, Empress of India, personally intervened to award the title of “Nawab.”

In that unique process, Begum Faizunnesa Choudhurani became the first woman in South Asia to be so honoured.

Homnabad-Pashchimgoan, now known as Laksam, close to the Indian border in Comilla District of Bangladesh, was a zamindari, characteristic of the British period, being held by a Muslim family in an area which, even today, enjoys a rich heritage of fine Hindu Temples that betrays a probable Hindu majority of the time.

She was born in 1834 to a very devout Muslim family, with its very aristocratic heritage, and was, very strictly, brought up in purda; although, in fact, her father was of sufficiently liberal mind to hire a male tutor to enhance the education of his two daughters.

Of course, in the great traditions of Islam, such an upbringing may not have permitted a great deal of social intercourse, but it is clear that it did facilitate for her an opportunity for a high degree of self education: Reading. Sadly, a vital form of education that has diminished in modern times.

That process of self and home education was, certainly, effective. Arabic and Persian in the household would have been the most commonly used languages, as in most such aristocratic families of the time; indeed, Persian was commonly used, even by the East India Company in its communications, and was an essential learning for Company employees.

Faizunnesa, in the preface of her famous work of poetic fiction, Rupjalal, was to acknowledge her tutor, Ustad Tazuddin, as the source of inspiration, and learning.

It may also be interesting to speculate that she had access to newspapers, that, as English language publications, would certainly have aided a familiarity with social changes, even in Britain.

Two years before her birth, 1832 was the year of the First Great Reform Bill passed by the British Parliament.

The act, itself, only marginally extended the voting franchise, still limited to males, as well as reforming Parliamentary seats. However, in 1817, Jeremy Bentham had first advocated enfranchisement of women, and although it was to be nearly another century before such reform was enacted in Britain, together with the succession to the throne of Queen Victoria in 1837, emancipation of women, combined with an embryonic movement for women’s rights, were certainly already on an international agenda from before the Begum’s birth.

Fascinating, indeed to suspect that, so early already, deep in the rurality of the lands that are now Bangladesh, and in a very strict Muslim family, it appears that something stirred in the field of female educational rights and opportunities.

Which, amongst other things, begins to raise suspicions that the movement towards independence, which seems largely in the late 19th and early 20th centuries to have emerged from a more “anglicised” upper and middle class in the sub-continents, may well have had some roots amongst the more leisured zamindari, especially those of ancient lineage.

However, Faizunnesa found herself at the age of 27, in a traditional polygamous marriage to a neighbouring zamindar, a distant cousin, Muhammad Gazi, becoming his second wife with whom she had two daughters.

In fact, it was a marriage at an unusually high age; at the age of nine, Muhammad Gazi, on a family visit, became obsessed with her, and sought marriage then.

Faizunnesa’s father denied permission then, on the grounds of her youth, but in the ensuing years, found it difficult to arrange any marriage for his daughter, over the well-known objections of her older suitor.

It was evidently not a marriage or situation that suited the well-educated, evidently rather independent-minded young woman.

After bearing two daughters, she returned to her parental home. There then ensued a lengthy process of obtaining marital alimony, at the end of which she received property as a settlement.

It is, however, clear that she remained on good terms with her husband, blaming his first wife, who he had married on rebound from his original failure to marry Faizunnesa, for the failure of the marriage.

On the death of her father, her apparently similarly self-assured and educated mother, took over administration of the zamindari.

On her mother’s death in 1883, Faizunnesa inherited the zamindari.

It is evident that, like so many, she was not content with British colonial rule; we may well surmise that the 1857 rebellion, although it had little impact in Bengal, and indeed the lands still at the time designated as a part of Tripura, especially the suspicion engendered by the role of Muslims in that uprising, was also contributory to her discontent.

Other women rulers in India had proved themselves content with the title Begum, usually the way in which a zamindar’s wife was addressed; Faizunnesa, alone, and a Muslim woman, made it clear that she found it degrading not to be recognised equally with male zamindars

In her writing, she also refers to the suicide of her maternal grandfather, Mozaffar Gazi  Chowdhury, preferring death to submission to the then colonial ruler, the East India Company.

In the period between the Battle of Buxar, that facilitated the Company’s domination of the lands, and the Act of Permanent Settlement in 1793, governance was so rapacious that 75% of zamindari are believed to have changed hands. It was not a period in which such aristocratic rulers could work easily.

But it is apparent that she was determined not to be suppressed by the rule of the successor administration, the British Imperial rule.

As zamindar were invited by Magistrate Douglas, the district magistrate of Tripura, to contribute to funds for his provincial development plan, she was the only zamindar who responded to the request, donating — in the absence of other support — all the funds requested.

As a result, Douglas requested the British government that she be awarded with a title. Nawab,was, at the time, the highest honorific awarded to zamindars.

The male zamindars, however, objected vociferously, and Faizunnesa was awarded the honorific title of Begum, with the agreement of Queen Victoria.

She rejected the offer, pointing out that she was already known in her lands by that title; she demanded that she be treated with equality to male zamindars. The British Parliament decided in her favour, and she became Nawab Faizunnesa. It is not hard to imagine her satisfaction beating the system!

Other women rulers in India had proved themselves content with the title Begum, usually the way in which a zamindar’s wife was addressed; Faizunnesa, alone, and a Muslim woman, made it clear that she found it degrading not to be recognised equally with male zamindars.

Her work as zamindar was far from limited to the effective administration of the lands she held. As early as 1893, with the support of her mother, she had established one of the earliest privately established female schools in the Indian sub-continent.

She also established a school at Pashchimgaon, now upgraded to a college.

In 1893, she established a dispensary for women, particularly destitute women, as well as a hospital for women in Comilla.

Her semi autobiographical “allegory,” Rupjalal, published in Dhaka in 1876, eventually brought her a worldwide literary reputation, but she also remains an outstanding figure in the continuing fight for women’s rights in the lands that are now Bangladesh.

Her origins and her upbringing suggest how hard it must have been for her to plough her furrow, despite her advantages of wealth and family.

A conspicuous, and perhaps somewhat neglected figure in the social and religious cultural development of Bangladesh today.

Tim Steel is a communications, marketing and tourism consultant.

source: http://www.dhakatribune.com / Dhaka Tribune / Home> Opinion> Heritage / by Tim Steel / August 06th, 2016