A prayer and condolence meeting in memory of the renowned journalist and intellectual Alam Naqvi was held on Sunday, at the residence of his younger brother, M. Tahir Naqvi.
The meeting was presided over by Professor Moinuddin A. Jinabade, former professor at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Among the attendees were Mansoor Alam Qasmi, Laiq Rizvi, Asif Fahmi (of Deen Duniya magazine), Dr. Mehmood Alam (Professor, Department of Commerce, Zakir Husain College), Naeemuddin, and Muhammad Arif Iqbal, among others.
Muhammad Arif Iqbal, editor of Urdu Book Review, New Delhi, who conducted the proceedings, described Alam Naqvi as a journalist of high calibre, akin to greats like Allama Muhammad Usman Farqaleet (of Al-Jamiat) and Muhammad Muslim (of Dawat). He emphasized that Alam Naqvi transcended sectarian and ideological divides, dedicating his life to the cause of unity within the Muslim community. A staunch advocate of truth, he never indulged in slander or falsehood and was a torchbearer of truthful journalism.
Tahir Naqvi read a brief paper highlighting his brother’s virtues, followed by remarks from Mansoor Alam Qasmi, Asif Fahmi, Dr. Mehmood Alam, and Naeemuddin, each paying tribute to the late journalist.
Before the concluding address, senior electronic media journalist Laiq Rizvi shared a heartfelt tribute, recounting some of Naqvi’s contributions to journalism. He also mentioned the threats Naqvi faced from Shabana Azmi and others over one of his published articles, noting that Naqvi remained calm and undeterred in the face of these challenges.
In his closing remarks, Professor Moinuddin Jinabade reflected on his deep friendship with Alam Naqvi, recalling that Naqvi kept himself far removed from religious and linguistic chauvinism. He possessed all the admirable qualities of Lucknow’s culture but stayed clear of its vices. Naqvi had a remarkable ability to shape constructive thought. Professor Jinabade ended his tribute with poignant words: “In the end, the dusk of life arrived…”
source: http://www.radiancenews.com / Radiance News / Home> Latest News / by Radiance News Bureau / October 17th, 2024
Marsiya Dilli ye marhoom ka ae dost na cher Na sunaa jaaye-gaa hum se yeh fasaanaa hargiz
Do not strike the chords of the story of Delhi My heart won’t bear the woeful tale of its loss
Delhi, the city of lights and poetry, has been destroyed seven times only to rise again each time from the ashes of memory, a memory painted into vivid relics and commemoratives; the memoirs of loss and longing.
The life of the last King of Delhi, the poet Bahadur Shah Zafar, took a drastic turn in 1857 when the British exiled him to Rangoon for his alleged role in the uprising of 1857. His sons were shot, his titles stripped and his poetry confiscated. Denied a pen and paper, the exiled and imprisoned poet-king used a burnt stick to write his epitaph on the walls of the small room, outpouring his desolation and heartache:
The siege of Delhi marked the end of a literary epoch, but the nostalgia inspired numerous fictitious and fanciful accounts of the city, colonial rule playing an ironic impetus in this memorialisation, with its blooming print culture and a fetish for memorabilia. Among those who bled the evocation of the lost city in their accounts were Munshi Faizuddin, Rashid-ul-Khairi, Nasir Nazeer Firaq, Hasan Nizami, Arsh Taimuri and others.
Murraqa literature
Dehli Ki Aakhri Shama, written by Mirza Farhatullah Baig in the early 1900s, is considered as one of the most splendid pieces of murraqa literature, interlocking overlapping layers of lived experiences with a poetic interlude. The writer of this splendid vignette, Mirza Farhatullah Baig, is considered one of the finest satirical writers of the Urdu language, his sketches rich with colourful characterisation emanating from a sense of deprivation and despondency; a theme that is constant across the writings of the authors mentioned above.
The historical novel is a story of a fictitious mushaira (poetic symposium) held in Delhi in 1845 under the patronage of Bahadur Shah Zafar, with his son Mirza Fakhru (pen name Ramz) as its chief guest. The artistic rendition, even though an imagination, turns out to be much more than that. It draws the sketch of the culture and tradition of pre-1857 Delhi in the most ornate and poignant colours, something well deserved by the ever-persevering city of lights.
Mirza Baig mentions a portrait of the great Urdu poet Momin Khan Momin that inspires him to draw a similar portrait of all the poets in the form of a novel, something that the posterity could dwell upon and find pride in, especially when everything was marred by a sense of impotence during the worst periods of British colonial rule. The second inspiration drawn by Mirza was from the famous narrative of Muhammad Hussain Azad, called Nairang-e-Khayal (An imaginal play) and Maulvi Karimuddin’s Tabqaat-ul-shoora-hind (Biographies of the Poets of Hind).
Interestingly, Maulvi Karimuddin mentions a mushaira that is actually held in 1845 at his home and Mirza Baig redraws the same gathering, albeit at a larger scale as a key literary event in Delhi. In his debt to Maulvi Karimuddin, he makes him the sole narrator of the novel and mirthfully limns him deserving any praise and all the criticism that his account would draw from the audience. The mushaira runs across the poetic eras and exhumes characters, known, unknown and forgotten, from across the length and breadth of Rekhta (the original name for Urdu).
Dehli Ki Aakhri Shama by Mirza Farhatullah Baig.
Delhi, a city in motion
The novel starts with a frazzled air of self-awareness of the city it is penned down in: once a patron city of arts and now a vestige of the East India Company. Molvi Karimuddin, who belongs to an opulent family of Molvis (Muslim preachers) in Panipat, now reduced to pennies, comes to the capital Delhi during the days when Delhi College is newly founded and the city has acquired printing presses for the first time. He enrols himself in the college and in order to earn a living starts publishing translations of well-known Arabic books from a rented building: Mubarak-un-Nissa’s haveli (Mubarak-un-Nisa was a courtesan in Mughal court and built a beautiful red mosque in old Delhi, that is often referred to as Randi ki Masjid) in Qazi Ka Hauz (now Hauz-e-Qazi).
However, his business fails.
Karimuddin, never fond of poetry, is left with no option but to organise a gathering of poets so that he can publish an account of the life and works of great poets based on it to get the press going. He starts his journey by meeting Nawab Zain-ul-Abideen Khan Arif, Ghalib’s nephew and Hakeem Ahsanullah Khan, the Prime Minister of Bahadur Shah Zafar.
The book gives very picturesque details of the lanes, houses and markets of Delhi. The canals in the courtyards, large platforms pillared halls, recliners, fountains, and porches. An especially opulent and splendid silhouette of the old city is drawn for the reader. The two associates of Maulvi arrange his meeting with Emperor Bahadur Shah for official permission for the gathering. The author describes the ease of access a commoner had to the royal court and the mannerisms that were prevalent among the nobility. The acronyms detailed in the book are unheard of in any book of history, with the Emperor being referred to as Jahan Panah, Zil-e-Elahi, Badshah Salamat, Fath-ul-Mulk, Hazrta Peer-o-Murshid, Zilullah, Qibla-e-Alam etc.
These are the times when what was once referred to as Lal Qila (Red Fort) or The Qila Mubarak (The Sacred Fort) is referred to in an ironic diminutive Haveli or Lal Haveli (red mansion), implying a shrinking influence of the Mughal family in the backdrop of growing colonial power. The book mentions the scheme of the fort, its Islamic, Persian, Timurid and Hindi styles, and details the conduct of personal and public life there. The physical sketches of kings, princes, ministers and poets are intricately penned down giving the reader a tactile presence of each of them. Baig writes that it had become customary in the last days of Mughal rule for princes to swear by the throne or the crown, political conditions being so uncertain that every potential heir thought he might be the next king.
A culture of poetry
The author profiles the three great poets Mirza Ghalib, Ibrahim Zouq and Momin Khan Momin with such eloquent artistic ingenuity that the reader is teleported to Ballimaran, Kabuli Gate and Cheelon ki Ghali in the very presence of Ghalib, Zouq and Momin, witnessing their aristocratic styles and patrician demeanour. The lanes leading to their houses, the shops en route, their mansions, their taste in dressing and most of all their behaviour towards the guests and strangers are detailed lucidly with an immaculate imaginative prowess that gives the book an exquisite artistic life of its own.
The Mughal empire was a great admirer of art which is evident in its marble and sandstone. However, it did not only leave stones and sand, its high culture left us a wealth of disquisition: poetry, prose and letter. A simple mushaira would be a central event receiving an inordinate state patronage. The alleys leading to the venue would be strung with coloured glass lamps, the roads would be cleaned and sprinkled with water for the guests and volunteers would offer water to the passersby. The whole city would be abuzz with the news and the lights (described beautifully as qandeel, jhar, fanoos, qumquma, deewar gir, hoondi, shama) would dazzle the eyes.
The poetic symposium, mushaira, was a cultural institution unlike any other with etiquettes of its own. It would also serve as a testing ground for the abilities and talent of the poets. The poets critics attended to evaluate the standard of poetry, rhetoric and prosody. Not only the use of language or the contents of poetry were subject to meeting certain standards, but the mannerism, the delivery and traditions too counted a lot. Even saying “Waah, waah” and “Subanallah” had limits and rules, and the tonality of each would convey a different intent every time. Mirza Baig defines these limits for the reader, “The ghazal that should not be praised is not praised”. The culture of starting the gathering with “Fatiha”, reading the poem of the patron (usually the emperor) by his emissary and then commencing the event by moving a lamp/candlestick/lantern among the poets as described in the book was prevalent until the late 20th century.
The author brings nearly 60 poets, a gamut of eccentric and interesting characters from different eras, on a same dais. The leading names of sukhan(narration) like Ghalib, Dagh, Momin, Bedil, Zauq and Aish are put up against the forgotten masters like Yusuf Tamkeen, Ghulam Ahmad Tawseer, Mohammad Jafar Tabish, Syed Mohammad Tashuq, Haji Beg shohrat, Nawazish Tanweer, Mirza Mahir, Najmuddin Barq, Mirza Pyare Refat and others whom Baig digs out from the antediluvian. Every poet is introduced with a physical sketch and his profession and interests, his expertise in poetry, his teachers and his immediate friends and foes. Then each of them uses the medium of the ghazal in exquisite ways to articulate complex human thoughts, philosophical concepts, revolutionary ideals, and, of course, the universal emotions of humankind. Some of the finest ghazals find their way in the book, becoming the vehicles of rebuttal, reconciliation and revenge between the poets.
The poets chant the withering of the rose of happiness. They echo the transitory nature of life in numerous metaphors and combine it with a desire for immortal beauty, strongly influenced in their world view by the imagery of Muslim mystics. The beloved to whom the poets refer to is always considered cruel whom one only knows by hearsay: a noble virgin living in purdah, a coy courtesan, a despotic ruler whose will is inscrutable and who is beyond the reach of a common man. The “rival and the reproacher”, so closely associated with the love drama, fit as well in the scenery of court intrigue, the ambiguity permitting numerous interpretation of an outwardly simple verse.
This is the time when Persian poetry, which according to Ethe had lived through the Mughal court its “Indian summer”, was burning its last embers. Other than a few masters like Mirza Ghalib hardly anyone would write in Persian. The fact is alluded to when Maulana Sahbai recites a Persian ghazal, and in the words of Karimuddin (Farhatullah Baig), “Persian ghazal is imposed on the Urdu mushaira”; and everyone is left blank faced: unable to appreciate the profundity of the dying language. The mehfiland its labyrinth of poignant inventivenessgo on the whole night in a sublime poetic ecstasy, occasionally marked by twangs of jealousy and rancour that were prevalent among the poets of past and often served as a goad for improvisation.
The mushaira and the novel end with the the word of God just as they had started, remembering the bygone era in all its lost glory. Drawing upon the living memories the book blends fact and fiction seamlessly keeping alive the high culture of old Dilli. Conscious of the decline and defeat of the cultural sophistication, Mirza Baig, like many of his times, seemed to be living somewhere between the struggle of two worlds: A world of poetry and a world of ashes.
Ab kharaba hua Jahanabad Warna Har ek qadam pe yahan ghar tha
Now Jahanabad (Delhi) has become a barren land Otherwise every footstep was a home here.
The English translation of Dehli Ki Aakhri Shama is available as The Last Mushaira of Delhi translated by Akhter Qamber (Orient Black Swan) and The Last Light of Delhi translated by Parvati Sharma and Sulaiman Ahmad (Penguin India).
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Talking Books / by Khawar Khan Achkzai / September 29th, 2024
Though long neglected in translation, Rashid Jahan blazed a trail for Urdu writers.
In her short, eventful life, Rashid Jahan made her mark as a literary stylist and an outspoken critic of patriarchal norms. COURTESY SHAHID NAJEB
1952. ISMAT CHUGHTAI HAD BEEN, for nearly a decade, the leading short story writer and novelist in the world of Urdu literature. But across the border in Pakistan, Qurratulain Hyder’s reputation as the disaffected chronicler of the generation lost to the tribulations of Partition was rapidly rising and would soon challenge Chughtai’s supremacy. In Lahore, Hijab Imtiaz Ali was turning to psychoanalytically inspired fictions about alcoholism and the Electra complex. Several other young, female Urdu short story writers, of a generation nurtured on the literature of the Progressive Writers’ Movement, were coming to maturity: Khadija Mastur, Hajra Masroor, Mumtaz Shirin, Shaista Ikramullah, Amina Nazli. And Rashid Jahan—doctor, political activist, Chughtai’s literary mentor and the forerunner of this entire wave of writers—died of cancer in a Russian hospital in July of that year, some weeks before her forty-seventh birthday, almost forgotten by the literary world she had stormed two decades before. Yet she had freed the tongues and the pens of several generations that followed; her impact would be surpassed only three decades later, by Fahmida Riaz and Kishwar Naheed, the feminist poets of the 1960s who replaced the forensic idiom of Rashid’s work with a lyrical celebration of women’s bodies.
The daughter of Shaikh Abdullah and Wahid Jahan Begum, an illustrious couple of educationists in Aligarh, Rashid came from an enlightened family, and her decision to study medicine was perhaps not surprising. Her literary reputation rested on her contribution to Angaare, a pioneering anthology of short fiction published in 1932. This milestone of Urdu literature had introduced four young writers in their twenties, who in their fiction presented contemporary philosophical and psychological ideas, and also techniques absorbed from modern European writing. The most famous of the four was Ahmed Ali, who, though not prolific, would go on to become one of the most respected Anglophone litterateurs of the subcontinent. Ahmed Ali had introduced the young doctor to the other contributors. Aware of her literary predilections, one of them, Sajjad Zahir, is believed to have persuaded her to write two pieces for the book; another, Mahmud-uz-Zafar, would become her life’s companion.
The contributors, radical and ready to challenge as they might have been, were perhaps unaware of the shockwaves their discussions of sex and religion would send out into an audience that, though probably ripe for a new literary movement, was unprepared for the force of this onslaught on their sensibilities. Rashid was the only woman in the gang of four. Critics have noted that she was also the only one of them that didn’t differ significantly from her predecessors in her choice of milieu or material, but her unabashed vocabulary earned her the censure of readers across the Urdu-speaking regions. Ordinances were passed against her and the others. She was advised to travel with bodyguards but, as a practising doctor, she refused to take such precautions.
Her zeal was infectious. Faiz Ahmed Faiz, arguably the greatest political poet of his generation, was said to have been awakened to his ideological responsibilities by Rashid and her husband and fellow communist, Mahmud-uz-Zafar. Ismat Chughtai said of her, “I stored up her work like pearls … the handsome heroes and pretty heroines of my stories, the candle-like fingers, the lime blossoms and crimson blossoms all vanished … the earthy Rashid Jahan shattered all my ivory idols to pieces … Life, stark and naked, stood before me.”
Even Premchand, the grand old man of Hindi and Urdu literature, who was a vital supporter of the Progressives and their aims, is said to have written his last few stories of “stark and naked” life—of down-and-outs and derelicts—under the direct impact of Rashid and Angaare.
Six years later came Aurat, the only book Rashid would publish in her lifetime, a collection of seven stories. Throughout the decade of the 1940s, she had been involved in her work as a medical practitioner and Communist Party worker; she only occasionally published a story or a play in some obscure journal. Her reputation as a trailblazer and pioneering feminist was held to be based more on her ability to tell bitter home truths than on any exceptional literary talent. Her promise, it was held and still is, was never fulfilled. Above all, perhaps, it was the eventfulness of her short, unconventional life that made her a legend.
But in the fleeting period of her fame—or infamy—she had written at least a handful of pieces that made an impact on literary history which continues, to this day, to be analysed and chronicled. Her uncollected stories were published in Shola-e-Jawwala (1974), while the uncollected plays were included in Woh Aur Dusre Afsane Drame (1977). There was no authoritative collection of Rashid’s work for more than 30 years till Nasr-e-Rashid Jahan appeared in Pakistan in 2012. Edited by Humera Ashfaq, this was a major retrospective volume of 16 stories, five plays and a few essays, bringing together the author’s most famous pieces and lesser-known texts. Now, in A Rebel and Her Cause: The Life and Work of Rashid Jahan (Women Unlimited, 256 pages, R400), Rakhshanda Jalil, the well-known critic of Urdu literature who translated and edited the volume, presents eleven stories and two plays (all but one of these texts are also in Ashfaq’s volume), prefaced by a brief biography and a critical assessment, to give us the first full-length study of Rashid Jahan’s life and work to appear in the English language.
Three of the texts included are widely acknowledged as minor classics: the very brief monologue ‘A Tour of Delhi’, and the plays ‘Behind the Curtain’ and ‘Woman’. These three works, written in the space of about five years, display the development of her perception. In the first of these, a woman wrapped up in a burqa, whose husband has promised her a day trip in Delhi, is left to sit alone at the railway station to guard their bags while the husband goes off on a jaunt with a friend. Later, the woman recasts her experience as a self-deprecating story to entertain her friends back home. Rashid’s wit, and her command of the idiom of semi-educated middle-class women, are in evidence here. Though Rashid may have been influenced in passing by Western literary models, the most remarkable trait she reveals in ‘A Tour of Delhi’, and indeed throughout her career, is an ability to weld disparate influences into a seamless whole and create fictions that are deeply rooted in the milieu she portrays. This quality makes her work less formally innovative but more radically relevant to her readers’ lives than the writings of her male contemporaries.
The second piece, ‘Behind the Curtain’, a dramatised dialogue for two female voices, is far darker in texture. Muhammadi Begum, the mother of many children, laments to a friend that her husband has lost interest in her.
The truth is that my womb and all the lower parts had slipped so far down that I had to get them fixed, so that my husband would get the same pleasure he might from a new wife … How long can a woman who bears a child every year expect to have her body remain in good condition? It slipped again. Again, he went after me, nagged and threatened me into going under the butcher’s knife. But he is still not happy.
These words, of an unprecedented frankness at the time in their charting of a woman’s anatomy and naming of reproductive organs, nevertheless do not release the woman who utters them into any form of freedom. But Rashid would complete this task in ‘Woman’, which has a wider cast of characters, both male and female, and a more intricately theatrical frame. Here, in a very similar situation, Fatima, whose ailment this time is gonorrhoea, actually throws the cheating husband who gave it to her out of their marital home. The long-suffering woman of Urdu literature is replaced by a character prepared to take control of her own destiny.
I have the disease you have given me. You caused my innocent babies to die. You murderer! I will get myself treated by whoever I want. No one can stop me now. I have suffered enough at your hands by listening to your commands.
Again, one could compare Rashid’s characters to Western ones—in this case, Ibsen’s Nora from A Doll’s House and his other stories of discontented wives. But Rashid’s stories derive so completely from their parochial contexts that such comparisons point more to the discontinuous universality of human—and in particular women’s—experience than to literary borrowing.
Shaista Ikramullah—an admirer, whose own concise fictions show the influence of Rashid Jahan—was one of the few critics to pay serious attention to Rashid’s work during the latter’s lifetime. In her seminal work, A Critical Study of the Development of the Urdu Novel and Short Story (1945), Ikramullah writes about ‘Woman’:
It is a common enough occurrence, namely a husband contemplating a second marriage on the ground that his wife is childless. The fiction writers of the last four decades have condemned and criticised this cupidity of man. But none of them had the smouldering indignation that is present in Rashid’s indictment of it, nor has anyone yet succeeded in showing how contemptible were such men as she has. So far authors have been content to show just this one trait in man’s character, but Rashid has shown the entire man in his grossness.
Ikramullah is perhaps alone in tracing the connection between Rashid and the earlier generation of reformist writers, and in showing how she extends and rewrites their agenda from her progressive standpoint.
The lot of the poor has been championed in novels and short stories from the time they appeared in the Urdu language. But they were treated with an air of fateful acceptance … In Rashid’s stories there is a fire and a defiance that were not found in the stories that were written on the same theme before … In this attitude lies the difference between the new and the old school of writers.
What Ikramullah might have added is that Rashid brought to the concise and elliptical form of the short story the concerns of the novelists of a prior generation, often saying in three or four pages what it had taken the reformists several times that number to narrate. Hers was not only a political but also a formal innovation.
THE STORY that opens Jalil’s selection, ‘That One’, is a first person account of a young teacher’s strange relationship with a syphilitic prostitute; his infatuation with her is expressed by the daily gift of a flower. Finally, one of the housekeepers in the narrator’s hostel abuses and insults the prostitute, and throws her out. This story was, in some ways, Rashid’s introduction to a new generation of feminist readers, especially when it was translated into English for Susie Tharu and K Lalita’s pioneering anthology, Women Writing in India, 600 BC to the Present, Volume II (1993). The editors, however, focusing on Rashid’s narrative technique and conflating it with her authorial persona, ranged Rashid with a generation of bourgeois liberal women writers, introducing in the process a new if somewhat skewed reading of her literary politics.
The focus of these narratives remains the middle-class protagonist and her moral awakening to social responsibility and therefore also to citizenship. The ‘other woman’—the prostitute, the working class woman—is a figure cut to the measure of this middle-class woman’s requirements that is also, we must not forget, the requirement of the nation. These stories may be about those at the margins, but they are, all the same, stories of the centre, told by the centre … Though many of the protagonists in the stories are women, the questions raised pose few threats to a patriarchal order.
How exactly Tharu and Lalita expected Rashid to overturn the patriarchal order they did not say. But their restaging of Rashid Jahan’s image persists. Priyamvada Gopal, in several nuanced and sensitive readings of Rashid, attempts to vindicate her and yet sees her returning to a default position as a bourgeois narrator—a surrogate for the author—who surveys her material with a lofty disdain. But this, today’s readers might find, is something of an advantage, as they can easily identify with her modern voice; and Rashid is able to use this narrative mode to inflect her stories with varying levels of irony.
Several such tales are included in Jalil’s selection. Foremost among them in terms of fame is ‘One of my Journeys’, in which a young woman student, on her way home for the holidays, gets into a compartment full of women, both Hindu and Muslim, who use every opportunity they find to engage in thinly disguised sectarian disputes. The narrator, a secularised Muslim, castigates them all for their bigotries and the story ends on a note of almost manic harmony. The comic note of ‘A Trip to Delhi’ is reprised but in a multi-vocal mode, with Rashid’s perfect ear for speech giving it the immediacy of one of her plays.
Far more subtle and intricate, and perhaps as a result not as competently translated, is ‘Sale’, in which a young narrator, hiding in the back of a car on a country drive and reminiscing about an erotic moment, observes strange goings-on through the window: three burqa-clad women and five men, one of whom the narrator recognises as a comfortably married neighbour, disappear into the woods for a bit of fun.
A torch flashed … those few seconds of strong light revealed two naked bodies. As soon as the torch lit the darkness, the man – scared of being recognised and uncaring of his body – hid his face in the woman’s burqa.
Evidently, it is not a sin to commit a sin; it is a sin to get caught.
Suddenly, peal after peal of dead laughter rent the air. She was laughing at the dogs.
It’s a chilling story, told from the centre about the centre, but pervaded by the “dead” laughter of the prostitute—to the extent that the centre begins to expose its own hollowness.
In ‘Thief,’ a doctor—obviously a very deliberate parody of the author—complains about the time, demands a fee, and generally behaves obnoxiously with a poor man who has brought a child in for emergency treatment, until pity or a doctor’s duty takes over. But the story keeps turning. The narrator then discovers that the same man had robbed her house only some time before, yet decides to let him go. The rest of the brief story is an examination of social conscience and of varieties of theft:
… petty thievery, picking pockets, robbery, larceny, black marketing, exploitation, filling your home with the money earned from the labour of others, swallowing up someone else’s land or country. After all, why aren’t these included in theft? … I looked around me. I saw that some of the biggest thieves walk around me, dressed up as saints.
Though not perhaps one of Rashid’s best, this late story shows her experimenting with technique in a combination of pseudo-memoir and ironic essay, and in its satirical retake on the familiar narrative persona.
The bulk of Rashid Jahan’s stories, though, are not told in the first person. More often, they begin in the breezy omniscient tone of a traditional tale, as in ‘Mute’, a beautifully calibrated story of a young woman whose parents fail to find her a suitable groom.
Siddiqa Begum’s marriage was proving to be a very difficult one to arrange. She was a true blue Sayyadani. Her father, Hamid Hasan, was reasonably well placed. What is more, she was one among thousands when it came to beauty. Yes, Siddiqa Begum was still not married and already twenty-three years old. Her mother … could not sleep at night for worry over her.
The multi-layered ‘A Daughter-in-Law For Asif Jahan’ is also set in the enclosed milieu of the women’s quarters, but this time the occasion that sets the story in motion is the birth of a much prayed-for girl child, whose cousin has already been chosen as a bridegroom for her. The story’s subtext chastises the women of the family for failing to summon a doctor; instead, they use traditional midwives and methods of delivery. But in place of polemic Rashid graphically describes the process of childbirth, interspersed with the manic humour familiar from other stories, which culminates in a celebration of women’s resilience as every female member of the household plays her part in bringing the girl child into the world.
Rashid is inevitably identified with portraits of women, but some of her writing, in particular her later, unpublished plays, show that she can also manage the voices of men with panache. This is also evident in one of the finest stories in A Rebel and Her Cause, ‘Bad Company’, about an establishment judge who rejects his Marxist son. The piece is created from a seamless weave of interior monologue, telephone conversation, and dialogue. There are times that the judge’s climb is seen with something close to sympathy, but that is soon revealed as an illusion when the man’s snobbery and deep conservatism are gradually uncovered.
Jalil comments on the unevenness of the author’s oeuvre, noting that Rashid Jahan probably wrote quickly and didn’t edit; some of the stories, she feels, read like drafts. Though this is true of one or two of the stories in Aurat, it largely isn’t evident in those Jalil has chosen to translate for this book, which consistently display, in their seemingly simple mode of exposition, the storytelling dexterity that is Rashid’s forte. There is some consensus that Rashid herself probably favoured the dramatic form for its immediacy and its performative qualities, which encouraged group activity of the kind she enjoyed—and some of her best later work (which Jalil comments on in an analytical chapter) is in this genre. As we have seen, Jalil includes the two most famous plays but has otherwise chosen to concentrate on the fiction, possibly because dialogue is harder to render in English than narrative.
Jalil’s translations valiantly attempt to convey the range of her subject’s interests, and the themes and styles with which Rashid experimented. It’s a laudable enterprise, as is the decision to accompany the fictions with biographical and historical facts. What doesn’t always come through here is the distinctive lucidity and diamond-hard precision of Rashid’s prose, which depends so much on her ability to balance various registers of the Urdu vernacular—pathos and satire, humour, anger, compassion and very occasional touches of lyricism—in a way that’s near-impossible to capture in English translation. In fact, Rashid is underrated as a stylist; and, if this timely book succeeds in sending bilingual critics back to the originals (as it did this reader), that will be yet another of its several achievements, the finest of which is to make us grateful that, in her short and exceptional life, Rashid Jahan found time to write so many outstanding stories.
source: http://www.caravanmagazine.in / Caravan / Home> Gender> Books / by Aamer Hussein / January 01st, 2014
Renowned singer Zakir Abbasi has been awarded the prestigious Shining Diamond Excellence Achievers Award for his outstanding contributions to promoting road safety awareness through music. The award ceremony, organized by Traffic Welfare and Road Safety Foundation, Ministry of Corporate Affairs, Government of India, took place at Magal Sain Auditorium in Karnal, Haryana, on Sunday.
Abbasi, who serves as Secretary of Bazm-e-Mausiqi and is also Jhunjhunu’s Election Icon, has been recognized for using his musical talent to raise awareness about road safety across the country. His songs on the subject have had a significant impact on the public, making him a source of pride for the Jhunjhunu district.
The award ceremony was graced by several prominent personalities, including Raghavendra Kumar, popularly known as ‘Helmet Man,’ Haryanvi singer Veer Dahiya, and actor and director Raj Arora. Zakir Abbasi gave a special performance of one of his road safety songs during the event, earning widespread appreciation.
District Collector Ramavatar Meena, Madrasa Board Chairman MD Chopdar, President of Bazm Sarfaraz Khan, Advocate Dharampal Banshiwal, Treasurer Manwar Diwan, and other members of Bazm-e-Mausiqi congratulated Abbasi on his achievement. The foundation recently appointed Zakir Abbasi state coordinator for Rajasthan.
source: http://www.radiancenews.com / Radiance News / Home> Pride of the Nation> Awards> Latest News / by Radiance News Bureau / October 14th, 2024
The Delhi Urdu Academy has announced the prestigious award, recognizing Intizar Naeem’s autobiography Ujalon Mein Safar.
Intizar Naeem, a renowned poet, intellectual, former General Secretary of Idara-e-Adab-e-Islami Hind, former Director of Radiance Viewsweekly and Ex-Managing Editor of Peshraft, and founder of Madhur Sandesh Sangam – an institution dedicated to the representation of Islam in Hindi – has been lauded for his contribution to Urdu literature with his autobiography. Ujalon Mein Safar has been awarded first prize in the Academy’s 2021 awards.
His autobiography has already received recognition from the Uttar Pradesh Urdu Academy as well.
In this work, Naeem encapsulates his seven decades of experiences, highlighting his efforts, particularly in the preservation and reclamation of Waqf properties.
Critics have praised his insight, noting that if Muslim leaders had acted upon his recommendations, the serious challenges facing Waqf assets today might have been averted.
source: http://www.radiancenews.com / Radiance News / Home> Pride of the Nation> Awards> Report / by Radiance News Bureau / October 16th, 2024
(From R to L) Prof. Aslam Parvaiz, Dr. Ahmad Imtiyaz, Prof. Ghazanfar, Prof. Tariq Chhatari, Prof. Shahpar Rasool, Prof. Sagheer Afraheem, Prof. Farooq Bakhshi, Prof. Muhammad Kazim
Special Report by Dr. Afzal Misbahi, Assistant Professor of Urdu, MMV, BHU, Varanasi, and former student of Prof. Ibn Kanwal.
New Delhi:
The Ghalib Institute, in collaboration with students of the late Prof. Ibn Kanwal, organized a one-day national seminar titled “Ibn Kanwal: Life and Literary Contributions” at the Ghalib Institute’s seminar hall. The event saw participation from renowned scholars, writers, and academics who reflected on the multifaceted legacy of Ibn Kanwal, known for his mastery in fiction, storytelling, and academic research.
Presiding over the inaugural session, Professor Shahpar Rasool highlighted Ibn Kanwal’s deep connection to Urdu literature and his dedication to mentoring students. Distinguished guests included Prof. Aslam Parvaiz, Prof. Tariq Chhatari, and Prof. Ghazanfar, with the keynote address delivered by Professor Sagheer Afraheem.
In his keynote, Prof. Afraheem provided a comprehensive overview of Ibn Kanwal’s journey from his early days as a student to his celebrated career as a literary figure. He emphasized Kanwal’s innate love for storytelling, a passion inherited from his family, and his ability to poignantly capture the pain of lost relationships and cultural decay in his stories.
Speaking on the occasion, Prof. Muhammad Kazim remarked that the overwhelming response from those wanting to contribute to the seminar showed the deep respect and admiration many held for Ibn Kanwal. He revealed that four universities are currently conducting research on Kanwal’s contributions to Urdu literature.
In a heartfelt opening address, Prof. Farooq Bakhshi shared personal memories of Ibn Kanwal, describing him as a person whose depth of character could be likened to the vastness of the sea. He recited a couplet to encapsulate Kanwal’s unique persona: “A man as deep as the waters of the ocean, A figure as intriguing as tales and legends.”
Prof. Ghazanfar presented his essay titled “Band Raste,” which artfully chronicled Kanwal’s life and achievements. Prof. Tariq Chhatari delved into Kanwal’s short stories, highlighting his distinctive style influenced by the tradition of storytelling, which brought a unique richness to his fiction.
Prof. Aslam Parvaiz, in his address, praised Ibn Kanwal’s honesty and integrity, calling him a sensitive and compassionate individual. Prof. Parvaiz noted the large number of students who attended Kanwal’s funeral as a testament to his popularity and impact as a teacher.
Delivering the presidential address, Prof. Shahpar Rasool reflected on Kanwal’s close relationships with his peers and his passion for poetry and literature. He commended Kanwal’s vast literary activities and lasting influence on Urdu literature.
The seminar featured papers from scholars across institutions, including Dr. Abu Shaheem Khan, Dr. Afzal Misbahi, Dr. Akmal Shadab, Dr. Mumtaz Alam Rizvi, Dr. Yameen Ansari, Dr. Uzair Israel, Dr. Mohammad Arshad, Dr. Shamsuddin, Dr. Wasi Ahmad Azmi, Dr. Alia, Dr. Nisar Ahmad, Dr. Tufail, and Dr. Abdul Hafeez, among others. Participants from Aligarh Muslim University, Banaras Hindu University, MANUU Hyderabad, and other prestigious universities also contributed to the seminar.
The event concluded with the launch of Ibn Kanwal’s book “Mazeed Shuguftagi,” edited by his daughter, Sabiha Nasir. The seminar witnessed attendance from his family members, students, and well-wishers, along with notable figures like Prof. Khalid Alvi and Prof. Mohibullah.
Dr. Idris Ahmad, Director of Ghalib Institute, delivered the vote of thanks, while Dr. Imtiaz Ahmad conducted the session. The seminar was a heartfelt tribute to the life and contributions of a beloved teacher and literary giant, Ibn Kanwal.
source: http://www.radiancenews.com / Radiance News / Home> Latest News> Report / by Radiance News Bureau / October 15th, 2024
The Urdu scholar community expressed deep grief and regret on the death of the country’s famous playwright and poet Professor Ibne Kanwal and called his death a loss for the Urdu world. Condolences on the death of Professor Ibne Kanwal.
Patna:
As soon as the news of the death of Prof. Ibn Kanwal (Nasir Mehmood Kamal), the former President of the Urdu Department of Delhi University, fiction writer, dramatist and poet, became public, the literary and academic circles of Dabestan Azeem mourned.
Prof. Ibn Kanwal retired from the Urdu Department a few months ago after teaching for almost 40 years in the Urdu Department of Delhi University.
In recognition of his literary services, he has been awarded many honors at home and abroad, including the Sir Syed Award, Kunwar Mahinder Singh Awards, etc.
Prof. Ibn Kanwal’s teachers include Prof. Khurshid-ul-Islam, Prof. Qazi Abdul Sattar, Dr. Khalilur Rehman Azmi, Prof. Shahryar, Prof. Noorul Hasan Naqvi, Prof. Atiq Ahmad Siddiqui, Prof. Manzar Abbas Naqvi, Prof. Naeem Ahmed and Prof. Asghar Abbas.
More than thirty books of Professor Ibn Kanwal have been published. Among them, the people of the third world, Indian civilization in the context of Bostan Khyal, from the story to the novel, closed roads, criticism, and Hussain and Urdu fiction became famous.
Prof. Safdar Imam Qadri, president of the College of Commerce, expressed his condolences on the death of Professor Ibn Kanwal and said that the Urdu world has suffered a great loss due to the death of Ibn Kanwal.
He had made his unique identity among the contemporary fiction writers as well. He said that I had a friendly and brotherly relationship with Ibn Kanwal. He was often met at Aligarh Muslim University, he was a very creative and affable person. His disciples are spread in every corner of the country.
Renowned critic Prof. Aleemullah Hali said that the most important feature of Prof. Ibn Kanwal’s fictions was their narrative color and harmony. He saw the present era from a new angle and used to create his creations accordingly. He had a deep study of stories and stories remained his favorite subject.
Professor Shahab Zafar Azmi, President of the Urdu Department of Patna University, said that many fiction writers who wrote after the eighties wrote fiction in a narrative style, but among them, Ibn Kanwal is unique and prominent. He used to be popular in every gathering due to his good manners and serious nature. He gave many important creations to Urdu literature, by which the Urdu world recognized these abilities. He used to have deep ceremonies with the writers and poets of Azimabad. His sudden death is a great loss to the Urdu world.
source: http://www.etvbharat.in / ETV Bharat / Home> ETV Urdu / by translation from Urdu / February 12th, 2023
Rainbow Peacock Marbled Paper (source: The Whimsical Marbler)
Fatima Alam Ali (1923-2020) was a writer of pen portraits (khaake) and humorous essays (tanz-o-mizah) from Hyderabad. Her work offers an untapped and intimate glimpse into the literary personalities and gatherings that flourished in mid-twentieth century Hyderabad.
Fatima Alam Ali (Source: Asma Burney)
Surprisingly, her writing has not received the proper attention it deserves. This can be attributed to the general neglect of the pen-portrait and non-fiction writing in general in the study of Urdu literature. Most scholarly work and translation has focused on poetry and fiction. However, her work is also neglected, in part due to the triple marginalization that women writers from Hyderabad face—as women, as citizens of a former princely state, and as Urdu writers from the Deccan.
Yaadash Bakhaer by Fatima Alam Ali (Source: Archive.org)
Fatima first began writing at school in Lucknow at the behest of Urdu teacher and writer Razia Sajjad Zaheer. She was later encouraged to continue by Jahanbano Naqvi, another Urdu teacher and writer, when she was at Women’s College (Osmania University) in Hyderabad in the 1940s. Nurtured by a network of women writers, Fatima published widely in newspapers, magazines, and books while also reading her work on All-India Radio and at literary gatherings. In 1989, a collection of her pen-portraits and humorous essays were compiled in a book called Yaadash Bakhaer (“May God Preserve Them”). This text is a rich storehouse of information and insight into contemporary figures living in Hyderabad as well as the reflections of a woman writer coming into her own.
Fatima was the daughter of one of the great Urdu luminaries of the mid-twentieth century, Progressive writer and journalist Qazi Abdul Ghaffar (1889-1956). He began the influential left-wing newspaper Payaam in Hyderabad. Her cheerful and lively personality notwithstanding, Fatima mentions how she felt not only gratitude but also a sense of anxiety about this connection.
Interactions with her father’s peers and members of the Progressive Writers movement were always burdened by the awareness that she was Qazi Sahab’s daughter. She believed that she was respected because of her relationship to Qazi Sahab and not the merit of her own achievements. This left Fatima’s writing dotted with self-deprecating and apologetic comments that gesture towards a certain “anxiety of authorship.” The gendered aspect of this anxiety has been explored by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar in the context of Victorian Women’s writing.
One place this anxiety of authorship appears in Fatima’s work is a long disclaimer she gives about her perceived inability to write about her father. She appeals to her readers that if they do not like her pen-portrait of him, they should forgive her, and if they do like it, then they should attribute it to the “noorani faiz” (luminous grace) of her father. Such prefacing apologies are part of established convention in Urdu and Persianate prose genres (such as the biographical tazkira). However, with women writers, they can be additionally tinged with gendered anxieties stemming from durable patriarchal norms and values.
Fatima’s pen-portraits draw attention to many contemporary Hyderabadi authors. Her portraits bring to life luminaries such as the writer and scholar Agha Hyder Hasan, an old Aligarh connection and dear friend of her father’s, and the scholar Habib ur-Rehman. We also see through her eyes her childhood playmate Ainee, who met her unchanged and with the same affection after a meteoric rise in the literary firmament as Qurratulain Hyder. She remembers Razia Sajjad Zaheer – “a woman in a man’s world” – as a mesmerizing teacher, hardworking mother, talented writer, and maternal figure. Fatima, whose own mother had died soon after her birth, remembers Razia with great emotion and is unable to find the words to describe the love she had given her.
Fatima grew up being mothered by the father figures in her life, an analogy she frequently draws. She describes her unusual and lively relationships with these men, who included, besides her father, her maternal uncles, Agha (whom she called “Chacha”), Habib ur-Rehman (“Baba”), and even Makhdoom Mohiuddin. With Qazi Sahab and Agha, the teenaged Fatima had relationships that were akin to friendships, marked by banter that was strangely grown-up. This was frowned upon in a conservative society that still believed in upholding a certain image of older men as abstract figures demanding veneration and formal distance. Fatima’s banter included teasing her father about the women who would fall for his dashing good looks and jokes with Agha Chacha about her future marriage.
It is not surprising, then, to locate the sense of ease with which Fatima writes and remembers the towering male literary figures of her youth. She writes fluidly and eloquently about them and with the same comfort and affection as she does about Razia Sajjad Zaheer or Zeenath Sajida.
Of particular interest and value in this regard is a memorable essay called “Adabi Mehfil” (“Literary Gathering”) that Fatima wrote – decades later – about an all-male mushaira that was hosted at Qazi Sahab’s home when the Progressive Writers’ Conference took place in 1945. Those who attended included Agha, Makhdoom, Jigar Moradabadi, Fazlur Rehman, Sikandar Ali Wajd, Hosh Bilgrami, Kaifi Azmi, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Ali Sardar Jafri, Ghulam Rabbani Taabaan, Sahir Ludhianvi, and Srinivas Lahoti.
Qazi Sahab could not afford the arrangements that were made in aristocratic homes, so they had only a buffet table under the open night-sky. There were no huqqas, only cigarettes, and the sole accessory demonstrating any continuity from an older tradition of mushaira was the paan that was arranged carefully and offered from a khaasdaan.
Fatima Alam Ali (Source: Asma Burney)
In engaging detail, Fatima introduces us to the august personalities of poets, writers, and intellectuals, as they dine with friends and peers before the mushaira begins. It is in her astute, sympathetic observations of these quintessential performers over dinner that we see their human dimensions, somewhat stripped of the dazzle of celebrity. Indeed, small aspects of their personalities often form the most attractive and compelling features of Fatima’s writing. She explains how they spoke more than they ate, how Srinivas Lahoti took over as host and led people to the table, and how Agha Hyder Hasan, who was unaccustomed to the new culture of buffet dining, sat by himself on a chair and balanced his plate on his lap.
Yet, Fatima writes as much as a fan as the host of such a gathering. She tells us, for example, how she held her breath while Makhdoom recited, afraid to disturb even the air around him. In vivid, engrossing detail, she recreates the charged atmosphere of the mushaira, where “in the Lakhnavi style,” everyone gives way to the others until Qazi Sahab intervenes and directs one of the younger poets to begin.
The euphoria when a striking verse is skillfully recited, the enthusiastic requests for certain well-known compositions, the restlessness when a particularly fraught verse is delivered, the unspoken code of hierarchy and ceremony, and even the specific verses that were produced – all these are represented in sparkling prose and bring the mushaira alive for the reader. What adds to the immediacy and vividness of her writing is that she addresses the reader periodically, saying “just look at this!” or “did you see that?,” transporting the reader to the time of imaginative reconstruction.
At the same time, Fatima does not shrink from criticizing these great men, telling us regretfully that the gifted ghazal proponent Majrooh Sultanpuri is now but a “filmi” poet or that Sahir Ludhianvi was already full of himself before he became famous. Through her sensitive, discerning descriptions of their appearance, temperament, and individual style of recitation, we get an intimate glimpse into their personalities: Majaaz, who was always shy when sober; sleepy, languid, dishevelled Kaifi, who always had a strange glitter in his eyes at mushairas; Jigar’s jaunty self and the errant wisp of hair that peeped flirtatiously from his cap; Sulaiman Areeb, who would cadge cigarettes from an indulgent Qazi Sahab, who in turn would sway in pleasure when Makhdoom sang his best verses; Makhdoom, the people’s poet, who would ask for achaar with his qorma and later be inundated with requests for his verses; and the evergreen wit and flamboyance of Agha, the quintessential Mughal from old Delhi.
Fatima Alam Ali (Artist and Source: Asma Burney)
In engaging detail, Fatima introduces us to the august personalities of poets, writers, and intellectuals, as they dine with friends and peers before the mushaira begins. It is in her astute, sympathetic observations of these quintessential performers over dinner that we see their human dimensions, somewhat stripped of the dazzle of celebrity. Indeed, small aspects of their personalities often form the most attractive and compelling features of Fatima’s writing. She explains how they spoke more than they ate, how Srinivas Lahoti took over as host and led people to the table, and how Agha Hyder Hasan, who was unaccustomed to the new culture of buffet dining, sat by himself on a chair and balanced his plate on his lap.
Yet, Fatima writes as much as a fan as the host of such a gathering. She tells us, for example, how she held her breath while Makhdoom recited, afraid to disturb even the air around him. In vivid, engrossing detail, she recreates the charged atmosphere of the mushaira, where “in the Lakhnavi style,” everyone gives way to the others until Qazi Sahab intervenes and directs one of the younger poets to begin.
The euphoria when a striking verse is skillfully recited, the enthusiastic requests for certain well-known compositions, the restlessness when a particularly fraught verse is delivered, the unspoken code of hierarchy and ceremony, and even the specific verses that were produced – all these are represented in sparkling prose and bring the mushaira alive for the reader. What adds to the immediacy and vividness of her writing is that she addresses the reader periodically, saying “just look at this!” or “did you see that?,” transporting the reader to the time of imaginative reconstruction.
At the same time, Fatima does not shrink from criticizing these great men, telling us regretfully that the gifted ghazal proponent Majrooh Sultanpuri is now but a “filmi” poet or that Sahir Ludhianvi was already full of himself before he became famous. Through her sensitive, discerning descriptions of their appearance, temperament, and individual style of recitation, we get an intimate glimpse into their personalities: Majaaz, who was always shy when sober; sleepy, languid, dishevelled Kaifi, who always had a strange glitter in his eyes at mushairas; Jigar’s jaunty self and the errant wisp of hair that peeped flirtatiously from his cap; Sulaiman Areeb, who would cadge cigarettes from an indulgent Qazi Sahab, who in turn would sway in pleasure when Makhdoom sang his best verses; Makhdoom, the people’s poet, who would ask for achaar with his qorma and later be inundated with requests for his verses; and the evergreen wit and flamboyance of Agha, the quintessential Mughal from old Delhi.
At the same time, she comments on the unreliability and instability of memory, cautioning us that time, place, and people are likely to get mixed up in her writing. And yet, she reveals an astonishing ability to reproduce verbatim specific verses or entire ghazals or nazms that were recited at literary gatherings. This signals how our memories operate, focusing on the enduring impression that certain events and experiences make on us, rather than external or superficial contexts.
Fatima’s pen-portraits are always coloured with expressions of nostalgia and loss and an urgency to record these figures, their work, and their milieu for posterity to ensure that they are not forgotten. In the process, she creates an important “memorative” collection that provides unique information, insight, and perspective upon a particularly important period in the history of Urdu literature.
source: http://www.maidaanam.com / Maidaanam.com / Home / by Nazia Akhtar / October 11th, 2011
By Nazia Akhtar. Nazia is Assistant Professor of Literature at the International Institute of Information Technology, Gachibowli-Hyderabad. Her research interests include the literature and history of Hyderabad, Partition Studies, women’s writing, and comparative literature.
That culinary addition is attributed to Chef Manzilat Fatima’s great-great grandfather Wajid Ali Shah, the Nawab of Awadh.
Chef Manzilat Fatima, April 22, 2024. (image courtesy: Umang Sharma)
Manzilat’s great-grandfather did
On most evenings, Manzilat Fatima’s rooftop restaurant in South Kolkata, aptly named Manzilat’s, is packed with food connoisseurs waiting to taste the incredible dishes she prepares for them. But there is another reason foodies climb four flights of stairs to her quaint little eatery.
An engraving of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah. Pic Courtesy/ Wikimedia Commmons
What Manzilat does, is nothing short of remarkable. Not only does she tantalize the tastebuds of food lovers with exceptional dishes such as Chicken Lazeez Shami Kebab, Lakhnavi Murgh Biryani, or the famed Lakhnawi Mutton Yakhni Pulav – but she also evocatively creates a bridge between the present and the royal past of Wajid Ali Shah, the last Nawab of Awadh.
Manzilat Fatima is the great-great granddaughter of the Nawab who made his home in Kolkata after the British East India Company annexed his kingdom. He gave the culinary world the famed aloo in Biryani.
A descendant of Awadh
“I am a direct descendent of Wajid Ali Shah and Begum Hazrat Mahal ,” Manzilat reveals.
After the annexation, her great, great grandmother Begum Hazrat Mahal who took charge of Awadh, put her son Birjis Qadr on the throne in 1857. Birjis Qudr was the son of Jaan e Alam Wajid Ali Shah and Begum Hazrat Mahal.
Manzilat is the daughter of Dr. Kaukub Qudr Meerza, the grandson of Birjis Qudr, she explains.
Like her pantry, stocked with delectable food, Manzilat is a storehouse of stories and fascinating history.
A conspiracy at play
According to Manzilat, despite having no inheritance, Birjs was still the legal heir of Wajid Ali Shah and Begum Hazrat Mahal.
“Birjs Qadr had a son Mehr Qadr who was my grandfather,” adds Manzilat. “He did not have any siblings growing up. He did have a family, but they were assassinated in cold blood on August 14, 1893.”
Manzilat says that the British invited Mehr Quadr from Kathmandu to Calcutta under a false pretext. “The other descendants of the Awadh royal family wanted to snuff out the last crown king, even though there was nothing to inherit by then.”
There was a deeper conspiracy at play.
A dish of Awadhi biryani (image courtesy: Manzilat Fatima restaurant)
A poisoned dinner
“In order to snuff out this branch they cooked up a conspiracy along with the British and invited him and his family over for dinner where they laced the food with poison. In that tragedy, he, along with a son and daughter as well as his guards and dogs were murdered.”
Only Mehr Quadr’s wife, Mehtab Ara Begum, survived. She was pregnant with Manzilat’s grandfather and did not attend the dinner. “Had she gone for the dinner, the entire course of history would perhaps have been different,” says Manzilat.
Her grandmother, Mehtab Ara Begum, survived along with an unborn child – Manzilat’s father- and a daughter who was four years old at that time. The little girl grew up and married, but died childless. But the lineage of Wajid Ali Shah continued through Mehr Qadr and Manzilat’s father Kaukub Qudr Meerza.
“My lineage shaped me into a very loyal Indian,” she says. “We grew up hearing stories of valor of Begum Hazrat Mahal and Birjs Qadr and how, after 1857, (she) chose to live free in Kathmandu, Nepal. Our history helped us be grounded and honest. We learned the art of sacrifice.”
From lawyer to chef
Growing up, Manzilat heard stories about the tragedy and the conspiracy that destroyed her family – from their time in Lucknow until Birjs Qadr’s assassination, and how her grandfather was protected and grew up very sheltered because of the constant threat to his life.
Being a chef was not always the game plan. Manzilat studied at Aligarh Public School and graduated with an English (Hons) degree from Women’s College, Aligarh Muslim University. She enrolled at Calcutta University for her Master’s in English and a few years after her marriage, even completed a five-year LL.B course in 2002.
Chef Manzilat Fatima (image courtesy: (Umang Sharma)
Manzilat opened the doors to her kitchen to food lovers from all over the world. As the smoke rises from her tender Mutton Awadhi Galwtii Kebab, or tear-drop-shaped condensation rolls down her chilled Khus ka sherbet, or even as patrons savor the pillowy soft aloo in their biryani, Manzilat knows that she has not only served some delectable dishes but offered her guests a panoramic view into the world of her ancestors and what they stood for – the mighty Wajid Ali Shah, the indomitable Begum Hazrat Mahal.
In the fragrant aroma of her kitchen, Manzilat Fatima is the custodian of the legacy of the last Nawab of Awadh. Her guests experience more than just culinary delights; they immerse themselves in a narrative of courage, tradition, and the enduring spirit of Awadh.
source: http://www.indiacurrents.org / India Currents / Home> Food> India> Lifestyle / by Umang Sharma / April 26th, 2024
Their work focused on Muslim women writers and their contributions to magazines in Kerala during the period.
Reading Rumours curators Haneena P A and Jazeela Basheer
Kozhikode :
Victorian-era English novelist and poet Mary Ann Evans famously adopted the pseudonym George Eliot to escape the constraints of social norms and patriarchy.
As times changed, female writers increasingly gained the courage to publish under their own names. However, in Kerala – a region still grappling with significant gender disparities – women defied the odds and entered the publishing industry as early as the 1900s. Yet, tracing the contributions of some, particularly Mappila women, proves challenging.
The exhibition titled Reading Rumours, held at Silk Street in Kozhikode, shed light on the hidden history of women’s involvement in Kerala’s print culture between 1900 and the 1950s. Curated by research scholar Haneena P A and exhibition designer Jazeela Basheer, the event is the result of two years of research by the collective Around The Sufrah. Their work focused on Muslim women writers and their contributions to magazines in Kerala during the period.
“Print culture flourished in Kerala from 1900 to 1950, and readership grew. But the contributions of women writers from this era have largely been overlooked,” Haneena told TNIE.
“Reading Rumours brings together the micro-histories of these women writers, encouraging visitors to engage with their stories and legacies.” The title, Reading Rumours, symbolises women’s quest for knowledge and their fight for recognition.
“Rumours are often seen as statements without a reliable source of truth, frequently associated with women. Much of women’s knowledge, history, and experiences are dismissed as mere gossip. The title is also a play on the traditional vayanashaala, or reading rooms, where men would gather to read and discuss,” Haneena explained.
The idea for Reading Rumours originated from a desire to present Haseena’s postgraduate thesis in a more accessible, popular format.
“This exhibition is an extension of my thesis, which focused on Mappila women in print. We are generally aware of only a handful of female writers from the early 1900s, but my research uncovered around 25 Muslim women who were actively involved in writing for magazines and other publications,” she said.
The three-day exhibition, which began on October 4, received enthusiastic support from the public. “The response has been overwhelming,” Haneena noted.
“Many visitors expressed surprise at discovering the significant role Muslim women played in Kerala’s early print culture,” she said.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Kerala / by Lakshmi Athira / October 07th, 2024
