P.T. Kunhammu Musliar, popularly known as Kottur Ustad, leading the opening prayer at a function held to celebrate the 60th year of his teaching career at Kottur near Kottakkal on Monday. | Photo Credit: SAKEER HUSSAIN
Educational institution will be set up to mark 60th year of Kottur Ustad’s teaching career, says Kanthapuram
Veteran Islamic scholar P.T. Kunhammu Musliar, popularly known as Kottur Ustad, was felicitated at a function held to mark the 60 th year of his dars or teaching career at Kottur near Kottakkal on Monday.
His disciples from across the State, many of them veterans including leading fiqh (jurisprudence) scholar Ponmala Abdul Khadir Musliar, attended the function and prayed for their teacher whom they endearingly called Tajul Muhaqqiqin.
Sunni leader and Grand Mufti Kanthapuram A.P. Aboobacker Musliar led a special prayer for Samastha Kerala Jamiyyathul Ulama vice president Syed Hyderali Shihab Thangal, who died on Sunday.
Delivering the keynote address, Mr. Kanthapuram announced that an educational institution named Masalik Attariqa Al Muhammadiyya would be set up at Kottur to mark the 60 th year of Kottur Ustad’s dars.
Kanthapuram A.P. Mohammed Musliar, head of the Department of Fiqh at Markaz Sharia College, inaugurated the function. Samastha Kerala Jamiyyathul Ulama (AP group) president E. Sulaiman Musliar presided over the function. Fiqh scholar Ponmala Abdul Khadir Musliar, Haj Committee chairman C. Mohammed Faizi, and Kerala State Sunni Students Federation general secretary Nizamuddin Faizi spoke.
E. Sulaiman Musliar and Markaz president Syed Ali Bafaqi were also felicitated at the function.
Kottur Ustad, who has been a member of the Samastha Mushawara, the highest body of Islamic scholars, since 1989, led the opening prayer. He is estimated to have more than 20,000 students spread across the country.
He won the Imam Bukhari Award given by the Bukhari Institutions, Kondotty, in 2019. In 2018, he won Madin Academy’s Syed Ahmed Al Bukhari Award for his contributions to the Arabic language. He was the winner of the Imam Gazzali Award instituted by the Darul Ma’arif, Kodampuzha, in 2010.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> National> Kerala / by Staff Reporter / Malappuram – March 09th, 2022
As Urdu Day approaches, Hyderabad-based author Jeelani Bano speaks about her bond with the language.
Jeelani Bano(Photo | R Satish Babu)
Jeelani Bano, 80, looks frail in her sea green sari with that mop of pepper-and-salt hair. Her demeanour is genteel, but only a talk about her stories on bonded labour, her aapa Ismat Chughtai and Progressive Writers’ Movement lights up her eyes. The decades pass on her soft wrinkled face as she turns pages of her autobiographical book Main Kaun Hoon and takes you back to an era gone by that’s still alive in her Banjara Hills house in Hyderabad, serenely tucked in another time-frame.
As Urdu Day approaches on November 9, she speaks about her association with the language. Many of her stories appear to be of our time. Jagirdari may have gone but capitalistic clutches don’t let go of the bonded slavery. Her story Paththaron ki Barish is heart-wrenching. Bano, who has authored 22 books, says, “A lot of writers of our time revolted against this inhuman system. Something also sparked in me and I wrote such stories. But today also, the situation of daily labourers is the same.”
Her book Aiwan-e-Ghazal, which tells the tales of feudal landlords in Hyderabad, has been translated into 14 languages. She then talks about her dear aapa—Ismat Chughtai—the firebrand writer.
“She was also from Badayun in Hyderabad, where I was born. She was friends with my mother and supported me a lot in writing,” says the 2016 NTR National Literary Award winner showing the letters Chughtai sent to her. Ismat wrote to her, “After marriage, respect your writing as much as you would respect your husband and in-laws.” In ’70s, when Jeelani Bano and her husband Anwar Moazzam, poet and writer, went to Pakistan, famous poets and scholars came to meet them at the border. She shares, “Nobody wants to understand what people of both the nations want. Sarhadein dilon ko nahin baant saktin (Borders can’t divide hearts).”
When once she went to the US, a scholar asked her, “You’re a Muslim woman. How did you get permission to write?” To this, she replied, “Nobody has stopped me from writing. Perhaps you haven’t been to India or else you wouldn’t have asked me this.”
Renowned poets and scholars such as Shakeel Badayuni, Makhdoom Mohiuddin, Jigar Muradabadi and Kaifi Azmi were hosted at her Mallepally home. But, she along with other children weren’t allowed to go to the baithaks. The young Bano would watch these poets, while playing in the courtyard.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Magazine / by Saima Afreen / November 05t, 2016
Muzaffar Alam’s ‘The Mughals and the Sufis’ is a remarkable and original work of scholarship.
Mughal emperor Jahangir chooses the Sufis. | Public Domain
The literature on the precepts of Sufism and the chronicles of its saints across various orders has a deep and prodigious lineage: from the great Kashf al-Mahjub of al-Hujwiri and the Risala of al-Qushayri, through Abdul Rahman Jaami’s Nufahat-ul-Uns, the wonderfully lucid Sakinat ul Auliya and Safinat ul Auliya, written by the 17th century Mughal Crown Prince Dara Shukoh, to the monumental compendium, A History of Sufism, by Saiyid Athar Abbas Rizvi, in our own times. The examination of the subtle and complicated interplay between religious doctrine, political influence, legitimacy and kingship throughout the Islamic period in India, though, is more recent.
Muzaffar Alam’s earlier book, The Languages of Political Islam in India c 1200-1800, published in 2004, was an important contribution to this discourse. It offered a fresh perspective by decoding the political vocabulary of those times to reveal the calibrations in theology, injunction and juridical practice, as Islam gradually became more “Indianised”.
In his new book, The Mughals and the Sufis – Islam and Political Imagination in India: 1500–1750, Alam once again breaks new ground, this time by harmonising two major domains of scholarship – Mughal History and Indian Islam – honed with painstaking care over a lifetime of study. What emerges is a highly nuanced and complex examination of the relationship between Mughal political culture and the two dominant strains of Islam’s Sufi traditions in South Asia: one centred around orthodoxy, the other focusing on a more inclusive and mystical spirituality.
The Sufi trajectory
The constituent chapters in the book, which can also be studied as stand-alone essays, chart the trajectory of the various Sufi silsilas and their principal actors, from the early, tenuous days of Babur and Humayun, through the 16th and 17th centuries, as the imperial position shifted from the more liberal outlook of Emperor Akbar (r 1556–1605) to the rigid attitudes of his great-grandson, Aurangzeb ’Alamgir (r 1658–1701).
Alam premises his critical study on a large number of contemporary Persian texts, court chronicles, epistolary collections, and biographies of Sufi mystics. Interestingly, the Maktubat-i Khwaja Muhammad Saif al-Din, compiled by Muhammad A’zam, Khwaja Muhammad Nasib Andalib’s Nala-i’ Andalib, and Muhammad Akram bin Shaikh Muhammad Ali’s Sawati‘al-Anwar are accorded no less importance than the staple Akbarnama or Badauni’s Muntakhab al-Tawarikh, known to every student of Mughal history.
This particular approach to Alam’s programme of study for his latest book serves two functions. First, his focus on relatively lesser-known figures and their writings, as well as many rare manuscripts, automatically inducts these long-underutilised texts into the bibliographical repertoire of mainstream historical research. Second, his own investigations enable Alam to challenge popular notions about the Sufis, upend unitonal hagiographic narratives of Sufi silsilas, and provide an alternate system of coordinates through which to view our cultural and religious history, in the process, reorienting our understanding of political Islam during the Mughal period.
A fundamental aspect of reappraisal is the relationship of a Sufi leader with the Mughal emperor. The usual perception is that the sole function of a Sufi saint was to be a spiritual pir (preceptor) for his murids (disciples), including those of royal blood. Alam cites numerous instances to the contrary, following a tradition that harked back to the Naqshbandi Sufis of Timurid times.
One of the key figures to emerge in this context is Khwaja ’Ubaid-Allah Ahrar, whose disciples included Timurid rulers and a number of their vassals throughout Central Asia. He and several of his descendants claimed they were not spiritual masters alone, but also the source of strength and assistance in the dispensation of politics as well as power struggles.
Although Khwaja Ahrar had died several years before Babur appeared at the threshold of Hindustan, the latter nevertheless ascribed many of his military achievements to the benediction of the pir. Most famously, at the Battle of Panipat against Ibrahim Lodhi in 1526, Babur, facing an enemy force that vastly outnumbered his own, is said to have meditated upon the image of the Khwaja, who then appeared as a horseman dressed in white, routing the Afghans.
Breaking myths
The Mughals and the Sufis also dispels some lingering stereotypes around the positions of the pirs in the Chishti and Naqshbandi orders. For instance, the Chishti pirs didn’t necessarily find ready disciples in the early Mughals and winning their allegiance was no trivial matter. A case in point is Shaikh ’Abd al-Quddus Gangohi, a member of the Sabiri branch of the Chishti order.
Khwaja Gangohi was a prominent preceptor of the Afghan elite at the Lodhi court, in fact, very nearly – the official royal pir. But as Babur established his supremacy in northern India through a series of brilliant, swift military campaigns, it took all of the Khwaja’s wisdom, tact and diplomacy, to reconcile himself to the rapidly changing realities. For his very vocal support of the Afghans, he had to suffer humiliation at the hands of the Mughals.
A similar stereotype concerns the perception of the non-inclusive, intransigent position of the Naqshandis throughout their history, as something of a monolith. Alam shows that the fervour of orthodoxy did sustain itself, from the pirs who were contemporaries of Amir Timur, to the Ahraris in the 15th and 16th centuries, through to the strident conservatism of Shaikh Ahmad Sirhindi and his followers in the 17th century. Aurangzeb’s unwavering support of the Naqshbandis ensured that the family of Shaikh Sirhindi enjoyed a favoured position at the imperial court.
Not only did this influence continue well after Alamgir’s reign, evidence is sighted of its influence outside the court in Delhi, for instance in literary circles, and beyond the capital, making inroads among sections of the civil society in Awadh, hitherto firmly entrenched in the Chishti-Sabiri tradition.
Through the following two centuries, however, Alam explains how a more muted and inclusive tenor of discourse developed within the Naqshbandi order, their change in position underscored by the triple forces of reformism, revivalism and modernism or Westernisation. Certainly, challenges from the West played a material role in changing the approach of modern Muslim intellectuals to Sufism.
Underlying many of the discussions are themes of influence, rivalry and conflict. Documentary evidence points to Sufis playing a role in informing and modulating imperial policy. Likewise, it is shown how the struggle for supremacy among rival princes (and princesses) was mirrored in the rise and fall of imperial allegiance to various silsilas.
Thus, when Akbar, at the peak of his religious innovations, is confronted by the outraged Naqshabandis, it is the latter who have to recant. And not long after Aurangzeb ascends the throne as the emperor Alamgir, Dara Shukoh’s Qadiri pir, Mullah Shah, is summoned to the imperial court and interrogated by the ’ulama. When it comes to a deeply critical and iconoclastic element of the Sufis, such as Sarmad Kashani, nothing less than execution would satisfy the emperor and conservative clergy. Viewed through this prism, the narrative of political Islam appears as a glazed mirror of the vicissitudes of princely wars of succession, and the leanings and idiosyncrasies of successive emperors.
What the women did
One of the criticisms that is often levelled against the academic patriarchy of medieval history is its scant attention to the women of the imperial household, their role and influence in contemporary politics and decisions that morphed and changed the empire. In this regard, the chapter-essay, “Piety, Poetry, and the Contested Loyalties of Mughal Princesses, c 1635-1700”, is a welcome inclusion in the present volume.
The legend of Jahanara, as the other-worldly princess who eschewed imperial titles in favour of the sobriquet of al Fakira, is well known. What is less well-known, though, are her allegiances to specific Sufi pirs and silsilas, and those of her sister, Roshanara, and her niece, Aurangzeb’s daughter, Zebunissa. This essay juxtaposes the contrasting religious beliefs and mystical leanings of these three ladies of the imperial household, despite their common upbringing.
Jahanara, even though she was initiated into the Qadiri sect, continued to retain a close spiritual affinity for the Chishti saints, in particular, Nizamuddin Auliya. Her choice is both a continuation of the pluralistic ethos instituted as imperial policy by Akbar, and a reflection of the deeply syncretic views of her favourite brother, Dara Shukoh – views that she wholeheartedly shared with him.
Roshanara played a far less public role than her sister, although she was a shrewd political observer, and increasingly, a key player in the filial strife that led to the War of Succession in 1657, ending with Aurangzeb’s ascendancy to the throne. Her close connection with the Naqshbandi-Mujaddidi order saw her acting as a mediator, during the attempts made by the sect to expand their influence over the entire imperial zenana.
Their sustained efforts to maintain dealings with the princess Zebunissa notwithstanding, the latter was far more inclined towards the practice and patronage of literary pursuits, than to the encouragement of the Mujaddidi brand of Islamic revival.
In a volume that offers much new perspective, the most insightful and striking essay is the penultimate chapter, “In Search of a Sacred King, Dara Shukoh and the Yogavsisthas of Mughal India”. In the author’s estimate, the Mughal Empire finds its intellectual and spiritual apotheosis not in the figure of Akbar, but Dara Shukoh, who, he boldly asserts, “is a step ahead of his great grandfather, Akbar”.
With this, Alam breaks with an unbroken line of rather uncritical adulation as regards Akbar that has stretched across generations of historians. For all his astute matrimonial alliances with Rajput chieftains, within the pecking order of the Hindu caste system, Akbar could only aspire to the status of a Kshatriya, Alam points out. Dara’s quest was far loftier – like Visvamitra, he sought to synthesise and embody the dual powers of the Kshatriya Raja and the Brahmin Rishi.
Akbar’s interest in Hindu scriptures, mythology and epics such as the Mahabharata reflect his curiosity about India’s political culture, but there was no great imperative for him to imbibe Indic norms of governance. In contrast, Dara’s project of translating the Yogavasistha goes well beyond intellectual curiosity or the inclination to recognise alternative formulations of spirituality. He becomes deeply immersed in the text, to the point of inhabiting it.
For Dara, the book is not only a philosophical treatise, worthy of study for a syncretic practicing Sufi – but a political manifesto – as the Crown Prince grapples with the eternal conflict between spiritual truth and temporal power. Rama Chandra is not the indigenous god from a hoary past but, in Dara’s dream, Lord Rama is a fellow-seeker of Truth, an elder brother.
In his quest for mystical and spiritual learning, Dara had perused the texts of several religious cultures, including his own. But it is only in the Yogavasistha, Alam proposes, that Dara finally found his model for the saint-king, one on which he wished to build the moral foundations of his own reign.
In a refracted light, The Mughals and the Sufis can perhaps be seen as an intellectual self-portrait, painted in the hues of scholarship, investigation and analysis. Now approaching his mid-70s, Alam remains as indefatigable as ever, poring over forgotten texts and rare manuscripts, to reveal the haqa’iq wa ma’arif (realities and truths) hidden within them.
The Mughals and the Sufis – Islam and Political Imagination in India: 1500-1750, Muzaffar Alam, Permanent Black.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Review / by Avik Chanda / April 28th, 2021
His short film Please Hold is in the reckoning for an Oscar.
(L-R) Farhad Ahmed Dehlvi; a moment from Please Hold
Please Hold, a 19-minute sci-fi short about a young man’s life being derailed as he finds himself at the mercy of automated “justice”, is in the running for an Academy Award in the category of Best Live Action Short Film. Please Hold has been shot by ace cinematographer Farhad Ahmed Dehlvi, who has films like four-time Oscar winner Life of Pi, among others, to his credit. The Telegraph caught up with Dehlvi, who was born and raised in Delhi, for a chat on Please Hold, his craft and more.
Congratulations for Please Hold’s Oscar nomination. You are not new to awards and accolades, but does the fact that this is an Academy Award nomination make it more special?
It is special because of the history and prestige associated with the Oscars, and also the fact that ours is a Latino story, an outsider’s story about the privatised prison system in America and the degree of control technology can hold over our lives. I’m glad to see the Academy recognising this kind of work.
You can’t think about the outcome, awards or accolades while making a film… each film is a leap of faith. You hope that you do justice to the story and that it will have an impact on the audience. I’m happy that the film moved members of the Academy enough to vote in our favour. The nomination is a real honour and we have our fingers crossed for March 27. I hope people watch our film and hopefully engage in the ongoing conversations about the subject!
What makes Please Hold different from the other prestigious projects that you have shot?
One of the things I’m most proud of in Please Hold is the tone we struck, both visually, and in how the story plays out. It is a dark comedy that gets increasingly absurd and Kafkaesque. I drew inspiration from the portraits of Lucien Freud and the films Minority Report and Trainspotting. By the end of the film, I hope that you’re left with a pit in your stomach because of how closely this ‘science fiction’ parallels our reality.
One of the challenges of a short is that there isn’t much screen time to set up the world, to build context for the story. As a cinematographer, I search for ways to do this as simply and effectively as possible. With Please Hold, we found an elegant solution — to have a mural on the wall behind the character in the opening scene. The mural, which depicts a fire-breathing, rampaging robot with Lilliputian humans trying to control it, tells us so much about the world and setting of the film.
Our resources were very limited and we benefited from a lot of goodwill from within both the industry and the community. In particular, Panavision, with whom I’ve worked for many years, supported the project with a camera package and our choice of ‘Panavision Ultra Speed’ lenses to tell this story.
Your work, both as cinematographer and film-maker, has been eclectic. What would you pick as the biggest turning points in your career?
After finishing grad school at the American Film Institute in Los Angeles, I spent a few years travelling across the US working on documentary projects. My time on the road, especially in the rural south, was a real schooling in the stratifications and power structures of American society, and triggered a process of reflection that has given me a new perspective on my own culture and my childhood in India. Looking back, I’d have to say the biggest turning points have been the collaborators I met, some of whom have become like family now. They’ve taken me on journeys I could never have dreamed of, tasking me to lend images to their stories.
A large part of your work focuses on making the universal personal. What is the key to achieving that?
I strongly believe that beyond entertaining or diverting us, inclusive cinema has the power to bridge cultural divides, to help us recognise our own pathos as we see it in others. I acknowledge the dignity of those that stand in front of my lens, I accept their nuance and individuality, and treat each one as the hero of their own story.
I don’t use the camera as a shield or a dividing line on set. I recognise the intimacy between subject and cinematographer and step out from behind the lens and acknowledge that the actors are more than icons or subjects and they are living, breathing people. Of course you do this while respecting the actors’ space and their own process.
My hope is that when the credits roll at the end of a film, the audience has a moment, however brief or subliminal, where they see their own circumstances in a different light and through the shared experience of the film, perhaps feel more closely connected to the person in the next seat.
I draw a lot of influence from the world outside of film. In recent years I have been studying folk crafts, both across India and the ‘Mingei’ movement in Japan. In particular, I’ve been looking at the use of pattern, and how a motif evolves over time. The timeless quality of traditional patterns is something I want to infuse into my work. The writing of Soetsu Yanagi has had a big impact on me. Also the artist Agnes Martin and photographer Sebastiao Salgado.
Your work is distinguished by its simplicity. In this age of visual effects and tech tools, how do you manage to retain that?
My first priority is always to serve the story. Everything I do, my creative choices, my methodology, the technical decisions are all in service of translating the essence of the written word into images that can connect the audience with our characters. I spend a lot of time with the material in pre-production to ensure that I’m prepared to actively create the visuals while ensuring that the mechanistic aspects of our work don’t disrupt the flow of the performances. This often involves months of work together with the director and production designer where we break down the film and build the visual language piece by piece, talking about light, colour, movement, and also how we can best use the set design and blocking to support our storytelling.
I aim to create a safe and flexible space for the actors and director to work in. I try to keep the equipment and crew outside the set as much as possible, and once we are into a scene, be ready to capture the performances that unfold.
Of course, there are times when a scene calls for a more technical approach, whether it is a precisely constructed camera movement or a particular lighting technique. These moments can feel more mechanical on set, but you have to trust the medium, trust the craft, and if you’re in service of the story, then the final scene, when it plays on screen, will look effortless and truly emotional. The audience will be transported into the movie. These moments are far more effective when you’ve built them into the grammar of the visual storytelling, contrasted them against the quiet moments in the film. It is like a piece of music — you need the pianissimo to feel the effect of the big crescendos. So I wouldn’t say that I eschew any particular tech tools or follow a dogmatic approach of simplicity. I’m always in service of each moment in the story.
Growing up in Delhi, was there an epiphanic moment that made you want to pursue this as both career and passion?
There are many! With both parents working in the industry, I was introduced to films at an early age One moment comes to mind — my first memory looking through the viewfinder of a camera. A visiting photographer, a friend of my parents, allowed me to look through his camera. It was a Hasselblad, a medium-format still camera, and had a viewfinder that showed you a reversed image that was very crisp, almost like a 3D projection. I fell in love with the way this camera’s viewfinder made the everyday image of our garden look magical, more real than reality, like a glimmering 3D projection. I was quite young at the time, and was enchanted with this ‘black box’ that could literally turn the world inside out. Of course now I understand the physics behind it.
I love the mechanical, the optical, the photochemical side of film-making, and I think this goes all the way back to my earliest experiences with a still camera. Getting some black-and-white film out of my father’s ‘stash’ in the fridge, watching him load it into the camera, going out and pressing the shutter with a child’s curiosity and then watching the images develop in a darkroom tray. This process has always been magical for me — a kind of alchemy, pulling images from a place that lies even beyond my imagination. I try and bring that curiosity to my work every day.
Is directing a natural extension of your work in cinematography?
I have always been narratively driven in my work, and having been in the director’s chair has made me a more sensitive and thoughtful cinematographer. I can see things with a broader perspective, am better able to shoot “for the edit” and am more closely in tune with the overall rhythm of the film. I think each informs the other, but I don’t see directing as an extension of cinematography.
I’d like to explore directing, particularly in episodic fiction while continuing to work as a cinematographer. There are several cinematographers who are balancing directing and shooting. Andrij Parekh did this with HBO’s Succession a few years ago, and Dana Gonzales on Fargo.
source: http://www.telegraphindia.com / The Telegraph Online / Home> My Kolkata> Life Style – Oscar / by Priyanka Roy / March 01st, 2022
Safina Nabi has always felt like a storyteller and, as she put it, a “story listener.” As a child growing up in Kashmir, she would listen to radio programs with her grandfather, showing a natural curiosity about them. “I would have dozens of questions and he would explain [it to] me,” she said. “Growing up, I think journalism came naturally to me.”
Nabi started working in radio programming while studying for her master’s degree in journalism and mass communication at the University of Kashmir.
At one point, she hosted an hour-long live morning show. “I wasn’t interested in writing at all,” she said. “I loved to be in front of the camera, taking pictures or doing interviews.”
In 2014, Nabi was forced to move to Delhi due to flooding in Kashmir. While in Delhi, she began to take on writing jobs as a way to make some extra money. After several years of exploring different mediums and “trying everything,” she decided that writing was what she wanted to do.
Much of Nabi’s work explores issues of gender and how it intersects with health, conflict, social justice and human rights.
She has written for The Guardian, MIT Technology Review, Vice, Al Jazeera and more.
Her stories are built around strong female characters; she feels that people are the most important part of any piece.
Over the past couple of years, Nabi also started writing about her culture and community. She sees it as a way to preserve her heritage. “We [Kashmiris] are an ethnic group and we come from a minority background. We need to preserve our history, our language, and our cultural roots. I think one of the major and important ways to do that is to document them.”
Nabi has received two grants from the Pulitzer Center for her work, the first of which she found on IJNet. Initially, she wasn’t even sure she would apply because she was anxious about being rejected. “The tab remained [open] on my laptop for days and days,” said Nabi. Finally, she told herself she had to act. She applied and received a positive response within a week. “I was so excited about it,” she said. The project, Kashmir’s Tribal Women Fight the Stigma of Birth Control, focused on the lack of access to family planning resources for nomadic Kashmiri women. “I have received really great feedback. I really think [working independently] is something that has helped me grow, because I can tell the story the way that I want to,” Nabi said.
The ability to control the direction of her stories is incredibly important to Nabi. She spoke with frustration about the limitations of the journalism industry, and how difficult it was to get started as a young journalist with new ideas. “As a journalist who is juggling lots of other issues like internet gags and communication blockades, we don’t have the kind of time to actually research each and everything,” she said. Grants give her more freedom to control her stories, and resources like IJNet, she explained, help her find new opportunities.
Nabi’s most recent project is an in-depth piece funded by the Pulitzer Center. Titled, “How Kashmir’s half-widows are denied their basic property rights,” it highlights the struggles of Kashmiri women whose husbands have disappeared, but cannot be proven dead, leaving them in limbo.
Telling stories like this is what keeps Nabi going when facing situations like months-long internet and phone blackouts, government censorship and intimidation. “Who will tell the stories of these people who are suffering unnecessarily and [who] do not have avenues to reach out to people, to government, to authorities, and there is nobody to listen to them? I feel this is my obligation and this is my duty, to actually give voices to those people who cannot raise their voice, and I think that that’s something that keeps me pushing still,” she said.
It’s a very difficult phase of journalism in Asia right now, especially for women, Nabi explained. “In Kashmir, we don’t even have a women’s journalism association or a union. I think if we all come together collectively and take [up] that space, I’m sure the struggle is not going to end there, but at least we’ll have that kind of space where we will be able to share our vulnerabilities and our problems and discuss them, and be that support system for each other when in trouble.”
Nabi also noted the importance of media organizations and publications supporting and inspiring young women to become journalists. “I think it’s an obligation and duty of other [sites] like IJNet to give space and give more grants to journalists who come from these small backgrounds and give them chances, amplify their voices and their stories. That’s what will help more journalists to come out, especially women, and feel like, “Okay, there are some people who are making it big despite obstacles or struggles that they are facing.”
Photos courtesy of Safina Nabi.
source: http://www.ijnet.org / IJNET (Int’l Journalist Network) / Home> Newsletter > Journalist of the month / by Daniela Riddle / March 01st, 2022
Kalaburagi-based artist Mohammed Ayazuddin Patel will participate in a three-day International Art Festival titled Colours of the World organised in collaboration with Amman Greater Municipality and SMD Foundation at Ras Al Ain Art Gallery, Amman in Jordan.
The festival will be inaugurated under the patronage of Anwar Halim, Ambassador of India in Oman, on Saturday.
Artists from the U.S., Jordan, Canada, Taiwan, India and other countries are taking part in the art festival.
Mr. Patel will display his digital painting works based on Indian culture.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> National> Karnataka / by Staff Reporter / Kalaburagi – March 02nd, 2022
Only a comprehensive, all-encompassing dialogue can resolve this situation and that is best-presented in a fast-paced drama.
Cover Image of the book ‘The Muslim Vanishes: A Play’ by Saeed Naqvi. (By arrangement)
“If we take the Muslim out of India, what becomes of the country?” This is the central question that veteran journalist Saeed Naqvi’s recent three-act play The Muslim Vanishes seeks to answer.
In a crisp preface he first explains the premise of his plot and then the choice of “play” as his genre: Politicians hold two interlocking triangles in their hands, both feeding on each other. The first is the caste pyramid, the second has three intrinsically intertwined sides — “India-Pakistan, New Delhi-Srinagar, Hindu Muslim”. Without the second, the Hindu Right will not be able to manage the first. Combine the two triangles with the deliberately misunderstood complications of Partition and you have the perfect recipe for hate. Only a comprehensive, all-encompassing dialogue can resolve this situation and that is best-presented in a fast-paced drama. Standing on this brief but compelling introduction, Naqvi dives straight into Act 1, Scene 1: a distraught and excited junior journalist rushes into a busy news studio telling two primetime anchors that all Muslims have vanished from India overnight and, along with them, has vanished the Qutab Minar. It seems they have “taken it back”. Much as this opening seems to lay the ground for what the reader can expect later, not one of the next 150 pages is monotonous.
As the scene progresses, the characters debate among themselves — What else did, or can, the Muslims take back? Writings of great poets — Mir, Ghalib, Josh. But what about Hindu poets of the ghazal — Brij Narain Chakbast, Raghupati Sahai Firaq? Can they take them back, too? And those exquisite terms used in our courts — munsif, farraash — will they also disappear? And what about our great musical repertoire, the gharanas? And food? Can they also reclaim nihari and kabab and the rista and gushtaba? Perhaps Hussain’s paintings will also magically vanish. But for those who think that the Muslim vanishing will only be about the loss of literature, art and culture, Naqvi has news. It will have far deeper socio-political consequences. It will change the power equation in a way few realise. In an early scene, a dalit, who had never dared to enter the main gate of a Hindu Brahmin leader’s house without being summoned, not only enters uninvited but also sits on the sofa without permission. The leader’s son, one of the two primetime anchors to whom the news of the vanishing Muslims was first broken, explains. “Today, without the Muslims, the battlelines have been redrawn. It is Savarnas versus Avarnas, upper castes versus lower castes”.
The problem has become so serious that a special court has been set up on the issue of the Muslim vanishing. And, this is where Naqvi shows his prowess as an eclectic thinker. To assist the court, an 11-member jury has been constituted. On the recommendation of the great Sufi saint of Barabanki, Shah Abdul Razaq, who has a deep mystical link with the Hindu court at Maihar, the jury is chaired by Urdu poet and Constituent Assembly member, Maulana Hasrat Mohani. Best known as the author of the romantic ghazal “chupke chupke raat din aansu bahaana yaad hai”, it was the Maulana who coined the slogan ‘Inquilab zindabad’. He is accompanied by the social activist Mahatma Phule, poets Raskhan, Salbeg, Abdul Rahim Khan-e-Khana, Mohsin Kakorvi and Chunnalal Dilgeer, Classical singer Alladiya Khan, Kabir, Tulsi Das, an anonymous nominee of Guru Nanak and Amir Khusro.
The lawyer in me applauds Naqvi’s jury-selection skills — four Muslim poets who are devotees of Hindu dieties (Maulana and Raskhan of Krishna, Salbeg of Jagannath and Khan-e-Khana of Ram), one Muslim Urdu poet who uses Hindu imagery in praise of the Prophet (Kakorvi), one Muslim proponent of Marathi Natya sangeet (Alladiya), one Hindu poet known for his poetry on Karbala (Dilgeer), two mystic poets whose philosophy cuts across religion (Kabir and Tulsidas) and one anti-caste reformer (Phule).
The jury chooses Amir Khusrau as its spokesperson. Again, an incredible choice. Khusrau is one of the most influential figures in the cultural history of the subcontinent and perhaps the most transformational part of the “long tradition of eclectic liberalism” that Naqvi alludes to. Who better than him, then, to speak for a composite India?
The judicial proceedings that follow through an entangled web of examination and cross-examination, unravel the rich and diverse history of the Hindustan that was. From complexities of the partition to the making of the Constitution, from mystic syncretism to the politics of conversion, from the special status of Kashmir to urban Naxalism and from cultural renaissance to quelling free speech, Naqvi steers through Hindustan’s intricate landscape with a masterly hand. Riding on his vast knowledge of politics, society, history, literature, art and culture, he moves between time and space with tremendous poise. I wish he had occasionally interspersed his scenes with some Mir and Ghalib, like he does when he speaks, but this wish arises more out of my constant greed for ‘Saeed Naqviesque’ narratives than by any insufficiency in the script.
The expression “Ganga Jamuni tehzeeb” must be one of the most misused ones in recent times. In their bid to buy an imprimatur of approval from the majority, Muslim apologists have abused the idea to such an extent that it has now entered the realm of the ridculous: “Oh, but we are secular Muslims. We celebrate Raksha Bandhan and participate in Diwali puja.” Though the very foundation on which Naqvi’s play stands is “Ganga Jamuni tehzeeb”, he does not tom-tom it as a saleble commodity to barter acceptance with. Instead, he forcefully situates the followers of this tehzeeb as equal participants in the making of a secular, democratic republic, demanding their indispensability in all decision-making processes in the present. This, to me, is his biggest win.
Sociopolitical writing has immense potential to exhaust the reader. But Naqvi’s satirical tone and terrific sense of humour compel the reader to go on, and expect something exciting every now and then. To quote Asghar Gondvi: Sunta hoon bade ghaur se afsaana-e-hasti Kuchh khvaab hai, kuchh asl hai, kuchh tarz e ada hai.
[Intently I listen to his life-story. It’s part dream, part reality and part style.] The play has immense potential to be performed on stage and I hope that, when it is performed, none other than its author is persuaded to direct.
source: http://www.asianage.com / The Asian Age / Home> Books / by Saif Mahmood, The Asian Age / Februrary 13th, 2022
Badsha’s ‘Tehey’ is a one-stop shop for a new bridal experience in city.
‘Tehey’ means layers in Sanskrit and there are layers of ceremonial wear — from exquisite bridal lehengas for the foremost bride to classy ethnic wear for the guests.
‘Tehey’ traces its roots to the early 1900s when a successful silk and cotton textile business was established by their ancestor Abdul Rehman Badsha and his four sons in Virajpet, Kodagu. The first formal retail outlet was opened in Mercara in 1922.
Now with the launch of ‘Tehey’ people can choose from a range of exclusively designed Indian ethnic occasion wear sarees, lehengas and salwars.
‘Tehey’ also offers Kodava attires for men and women, including the Kupya-Chele & Mande Tuni for men; Bottu Podiya, Kambi Podiya, Muskoli and Checked Vastra for women.
To enjoy the shopping experience, visit ‘Tehey’ which was inaugurated on D. Devaraj Urs Road in city on Feb. 26.
source: http://www.starofmysore.com / Star of Mysore / Home> News / March 03rd, 2022
Senior Indian journalist P A Mubarak, 66, passed away on Friday night in hospital. He was undergoing treatment post Covid-19 complications for last two months.
He was the former Qatar correspondent for Chandrika daily in India. He worked with the Ministry of Commerce and was running his own business own company after leaving the ministry.
He was an active presence in Indian community activities over the years and has been general secretary of Kerala Muslim Cultural Centre (KMCC) and Pravasi, Indian expat organisations in Qatar.
He wife Najiya succumbed to Covid-19 in Qatar on April 30.
He is survived by two daughters Nadia Shameen and Fatima Mubarak and sons-in-law Muhammad Shameen (Etisalat, Dubai) and Parvez Vallikkad (Doha, Qatar Foundation).
The burial will be held this evening at Abu Hamour cemtary.
source: http://www.thepeninsulaqatar.com / The Peninsula / Home> Doha Today> Community / October 27th, 2021
Safana Shamna who was selected for Sustainability Leadership Programme offered by Geneva-based United People Global. | Photo Credit: The Hindu
Safana Shamna, a young social worker and Kudumbashree trainer from Mankada in Malappuram district, has been selected for this year’s Sustainability Leadership Programme offered by Geneva-based United People Global (UPG).
She is among the handful of Indians who made it to the 500 young leaders selected from 159 countries. Announcing the selection, the UPG said that Ms. Shamna was selected after an intense review by 130 panelists.
The UPG offers training in sustainability leadership every year for select candidates from across the world. “It gives nine-week-long classes in sustainable leadership with the objective of attaining social sustainability,” said Ms. Shamna.
The chairperson of the Mankada Readers Forum, Ms. Shamna is also the district treasurer of Haritha, the women’s wing of the Muslim Students Federation. “I have been focusing on the idea of attaining sustainable development through mini training sessions,” she said.
The UPG Sustainability Leadership Programme classes will begin on March 14.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> National> Kerala / by Staff Reporter / Malappuram – February 15th, 2022
