Tag Archives: Iffat Fatima

Man who lived dangerously

Panipat, PUNJAB / Mumbai, MAHARASHTRA :

This commemorative volume is a timely and necessary reminder of the greatness of an extraordinary writer, film-maker and social commentator.

FL19 BK ABBAS 1

KHWAJA Ahmad Abbas wore many hats and distinguished himself in each of the roles he chose. As a pioneer of progressive cinema, a consummate writer of short stories and novels that depicted the human condition and a committed journalist whose Last Page column acquired legendary status, he blazed new trails and fashioned his own path.

Abbas was an important figure from a critical past. His body of work deserves to be studied and his life remembered by millennials and generations to come.

This commemorative volume, a celebration of the man on the occasion of his 100th birth anniversary, arrives as a reminder of the humanism that characterised his life and work. Lavishly produced and deftly edited by Iffat Fatima, an independent filmmaker from Kashmir, and Syeda Saiyidain Hameed, the social and women’s rights activist, educationist and writer, this book from the Khwaja Ahmad Abbas Memorial Trust provides invaluable insights into his mind and personality.

A man of many talents 

Despite his many talents, or likely because of them, Abbas could never be boxed into any creative category. And he was well aware of it. As Syeda Saiyidain Hameed informs the readers in her marvellous introduction to the compendium, Abbas himself would often ask his readers: “Who am I? Writers say I am a journalist; journalists say I am a film-maker; film-makers say I write short stories.” The editors of this volume, who recognised that the only way to appreciate Abbas fully is to study him in totality, have paid a perfect tribute to his oeuvre by dividing the volume into 10 sections that feature selections from his writings, focus on his cinema through his interviews and conversations, talk about his beginnings and early life and adventures, and reveal the man behind the mighty pen through reminiscences and tributes by actors and associates.

The nature of the public adulation of Abbas also kept changing over the decades during which he was active. For one generation he was the man who collaborated with Raj Kapoor to unveil some of the finest examples of high-quality mainstream Indian cinema, such as Awara and Shree 420 , while another celebrated him as the writer of powerful and poignant stories such as Sardarji , a lamentation of the violence and mayhem the country witnessed in the wake of Partition. And much before Independence, his was a significant voice writing about the marginalised sections of society. Abbas slipped in and out of the many roles he had chosen to play with a rare finesse, much like a thespian.

Abbas was fortunate to have inherited a long tradition of intellectualism and reformist ideals from both sides of the family. His mother’s grandfather, Maulana Altaf Husain Hali, was a poet who used verse as a tool against social evils and as an instrument of reform within the Muslim community. Abbas began carrying forward the torch early on, even as a college student, when he published Aligarh Opinion , a handwritten weekly newspaper that he personally peddled on a bicycle.

This was the start of his life in journalism which would eventually see him pen one of the longest-running columns in the history of news in Blitz , a weekly tabloid founded by R.K. Karanjia.

Reading the compendium is like taking a train journey back in time, to a world far removed from the present. Be it Abbas’ harrowing first-person account of what he saw in Calcutta (now Kolkata) during the Bengal Famine—which inspired him to make the groundbreaking film Dharti ke Lal (1945)—or his active involvement with the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), his cinematic endeavours or his first meeting with Jawaharlal Nehru, the reader is taken on a walk-through of events, institutions and happenings that are now the staple of history textbooks.

A particularly striking example is his narration of the celebratory procession of people in Bombay (now Mumbai) on August 15, 1947, where he was one among the hundreds of thousands rejoicing in their new-found status as citizens of a free country.

“It was an inspiring sight to see a famous poet like Josh Malihabadi, a film celebrity like Prithviraj Kapoor with his film star son Raj, a dancer of international fame like Zohra Sehgal, and a front-rank writer like Krishan Chander, singing and dancing in the streets to celebrate this happy occasion….Today, they had come in the midst of the people, as singers of their songs, not to sing about the people, but to sing with the people; not to dance a symbolic representation of life on the stage, but to dance the dance of freedom with the people in the streets.”

The collection also offers a peek into his personal life; his own accounts of life as a newly married man and the banter between him and his wife Mujji (Mujtabai Khatoon) are straight out of the myriad Muslim socials that Bollywood was famous for a long time ago. The scenes from his marriage tragically culminate in the death of his wife.

Describing the day his wife died in an elegiac memorial, elegant yet heart-breaking, Abbas says: “It looked like her—but it was not her. For that life that was always bubbling with intelligence and compassion was no longer in her. I collapsed near the bed where she lay inert. It was not her—but something resembling her—like the lifeless photograph of a beloved person. When I returned after burying her I walked alone and knew that henceforth I would have to get used to walking alone.”

Pathbreaking cinematic efforts 

Although acclaimed for his association with Raj Kapoor and, of course, for introducing Amitabh Bachchan to the silver screen in Saat Hindustani , Abbas deserves a special chapter in the history of Indian cinema for his breathtaking corpus of work that saw him don the mantles of producer, director and screenwriter at once and also established him as a pioneer whose films broke new ground. He took on challenging issues and translated his thoughts on to the screen, with varying degrees of success.

Only a man ahead of his times could make a film like Hamara Ghar (1964), a film about a group of children marooned on an island where the protagonist is a motherless Dalit boy.

As Ahmer Nadeem Anwer, who played the lead role of Sonu at the age of 10, says in an essay on the film: “It is this boy who embodies the defiance of those who shall not accept their exclusion from education, work, self-respect—or even recreation and pleasure.” The film, along with several others, is testimony to Abbas’ willingness to take risks and make the cinema that he wanted to make.

Collaboration with Raj Kapoor 

Abbas liked to describe himself as a communicator. “I want to communicate my ideas, my impulses, my ideologies to other people. That is my basic interest in writing, in films and in drama.”

It is a moot point which vehicle of communication served his purpose best, but one could not make a better choice than his cinematic collaborations with Raj Kapoor, especially from the early days of the showman’s career, such as his directorial debut, Awara , Shree 420 and Jagte Raho .

These films manifest the distilled brilliance of a mind that displays an unparalleled skill in weaving riveting stories for the big screen. His phenomenal grasp of the medium and Raj Kapoor’s showmanship resulted in timeless classics.

Abbas himself considered Awara to be the best of his collaborations with Raj Kapoor.

It is another story that the two would later go on to make Mera Naam Joker , which Raj Kapoor considered his magnum opus but viewers thought otherwise.

The monumental failure of the film devastated him, driving him into debt and depression, and it was Abbas who helped him bounce back by writing the iconic teenage romance called Bobby , which turned out to be Raj Kapoor’s biggest blockbuster.

Nehru: A love story 

It was love at first sight, as Abbas confesses, recollecting the first time he saw Jawaharlal Nehru, at the Aligarh railway station. The essay about the entire episode is a fascinating recollection of an awestruck student meeting his idol in flesh and blood and the resulting conversation, which culminates in Nehru signing his autograph book with the message: “Live dangerously.” Abbas certainly seemed to have taken it to heart, as his life demonstrated. He lived dangerously all his life, always true to himself and never wavering from his convictions, never hesitating to helm a project even at the risk of grave financial loss.

He firmly stood up for what he thought was right and did not shy away from opposing what he felt was wrong, irrespective of ideology.

His ability to introspect and accept criticism separated him from other giants of the screen or the world of letters of his time.

In his tribute, Amitabh Bachchan writes: “Mamu Jaan’s [Abbas] socialism was not just restrained to the books or columns he read, believed and wrote about. He practised it too in the way he lived and conducted his life, and in the way he made his films. I was a newcomer in the illustrious star cast of Saat Hindustani , but his treatment to all was universal. In his eyes we were all equals, and we were treated with the sameness that he followed and believed in.”

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home> Books / February 03rd, 2016

The matriarch who grew a moustache

Rampur (British India) , UTTAR PRADESH :

An exhibition reveals the life stories of three generations of women of a powerful Rampur family

Qamar Zamani’s granddaughter Mumtaz / Source: From the family collection
Qamar Zamani’s granddaughter Mumtaz /
Source: From the family collection

Before India’s Independence, Rampur used to be a princely state in Rohilkhand in western Uttar Pradesh. And the Rohila Pathan sardars were the rulers of Rampur. Qamar Zamani was the wife of Akbar Ali Khan, home minister of the Nawab of Rampur.

Though 19th century Rampur was a feudal and patriarchal setup, Akbar Ali’s household was different. Women not only had a say in most matters, they also had their way. In time, when Akbar Ali was executed by the Nawab, the reins of the family were taken over by his widow.

The exhibition, Gold Dust of Begum Sultans, narrates the life-stories of Qamar and the other matriarchs of Rampur. Curator Ranesh Ray is loath to call it a travelling exhibition, but fact is the exhibits did travel all the way from Delhi to Calcutta, where they were displayed at the Kolkata Centre for Creativity.

Apart from photographs, clothes and family jewellery, the exhibition hall is fitted with large screens showing films and speakers playing audio clips on a loop. “I have tried to give viewers a haptic experience, wherein you can feel as well as see things,” says Ray.

The exhibition is based on the book, Sunehri Rait, which is Urdu for gold dust, and is the story of Akbar Ali’s family as chronicled by his descendant, Zubaida Sultan, in 1989 and translated into English in 2016 by two other descendants, Zakia Zaheer and Syeda Saiyidain Hameed. Says Syeda, “The manuscript of the book was lying in our family for a long time. It was in fragments; we have fleshed it out. We have also altered the names of the characters.”

At the core of the narrative of Sunehri Rait is the relationship between Asad Ali, the Nawab of Rampur, and his uncle and chief confidante, Akbar Ali Khan. Ray says, “It is a complex story — a story of three generations, touching on the fourth. It is about the relationship with each other, the relationship with the Nawab and it also takes into account the traditions and customs.”

Asad Ali was known for his sexual profligacy; he would often marry a woman for one night only. And not just that, writes Zubaida, “Once the bridal night was over, they were buried alive within the four walls of the palace.” But one such wife got away and even gave birth to a son. The Nawab acknowledged his son, but at some point when the boy went against him, he ordered his men to execute him and it was Akbar Ali who was supposed to ensure it.

But Akbar Ali could not get himself to obey the Nawab in this case. He fled the state to escape Asad Ali’s wrath, but was eventually found and summoned, and thereafter he died in Rampur under mysterious circumstances. Says Syeda, “It is said that Akbar Ali Khan was poisoned to death.” The exhibition too is structured around this story.

Qamar as a bride at nine / Source: From the family collection
Qamar as a bride at nine /
Source: From the family collection

One of the exhibits that arrests attention is a photograph of Qamar Zamani as a little girl. It shows a little girl in a chair, swaddled in several yards of cloth, a weighty looking necklace around her neck, bangles on either hand and loopy earrings. Her head is tilted back, her little hands are stiff and downturned on her lap and her feet barely touch the ground. According to the legend below the photograph, she was married when she was nine and by the time she was 12 , she had given birth to a daughter.

It is difficult to imagine this little girl growing up to become the man in charge of Akbar Ali’s household. Says Syeda, “It is said that she wanted to be called ‘dada’ instead of ‘dadi’. She started speaking in a guttural voice and grew a beard even.” There is a sketch of a telescope on display and Ray tells us that Qamar Zamani was known to spend hours looking through it at the world beyond.

Says Zakia, “Qamar was a tyrant. She made the rules of her own household and dominated to the extent that she did not allow her husband to come into her room during the day, something unheard of in those days.” The other rule she introduced was that the women in the family could not bring up their own children.

Zakia does not have an explanation for this other than it was atypical of Qamar’s highhandedness. But could it have been crafty domestic politics, a way of blunting any imminent battle for succession? Who knows? And when it was her turn to marry off daughter Jahanara, she ensured that her son-in-law stayed with them.

Qamar's granddaughter-in-law (left) / Source: From the family collection
Qamar’s granddaughter-in-law (left) /
Source: From the family collection

There are not too many exhibits from Jahanara’s personal collection — it is said she set fire to all her finery after her husband left her as he felt suffocated in his in-laws’ home. But the belongings of her granddaughter, Mumtaz, and granddaughter-in-law Shehzadi have been put on display. There are cloth dolls in all their miniature glory, including a wealth of dolls’ trousseau.

As visitors pause before an exhibit or a scroll, Begum Akhtar’s ancient voice fills the air; curator Ray says she belonged to the Rampur gharana. In one of the adjoining rooms, Satyajit Ray’s Jalsaghar plays on the giant flatscreen. Iffat Fatima, in charge of the audio-visual part of the exhibitions, says, “The clip from Jalsaghar I have chosen is one where a majlis is on. After all, a majlis used to be integral to Shia Muslim households of a certain time.”

Qamar’s true successor, as far as the spirit of matriarchy goes, was Shehzadi. Zakia tells The Telegraph how Qamar first spotted her while peering into her telescope and fell in love with her good looks. But as Shehzadi grew older, she came into her own. She went against Qamar and brought up her youngest child herself. She stopped wearing the burqa.

“It is said her friend, Rehana Sharif, who was one of the first women graduates from Aligarh Muslim University, helped her,” says Ray. Shehzadi also started socialising.

The book ends with Qamar and Shehzadi reconciling against the ruins of a golden legacy. The exhibition, however, is missing a crescendo or even a wrap. But curator Ray would have one believe that the abruptness is symptomatic of the final swift drizzle of the sand through a clenched fist and the consequent all-enveloping emptiness. Indeed, it is an empty feeling.

source: http://www.telegraphindia.com / The Telegraph, online edition / by Moumita Chaudhari in Calcutta / March 03rd, 2019

‘Resistance is a form of justice’

NEW DELHI :

Drawn into the struggle and trauma of families in conflict-torn Sri Lanka and Kashmir, filmmaker Iffat Fatima says she became a part of it through a process of osmosis

Iffat Fatima an independent filmmaker from Delhi, went to Sri Lanka in 2000 to research a fellowship project on Education and Identity. In the years that followed, she worked at a television channel, Young Asian Television. In 2005, Iffat made a documentary film on conflict in Sri Lanka and what it had done to the lives of people – The Other Side of War and Peace. When she met Parveena Ahanger, the chairperson of the Association of the Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP) in 2006, the urge to make a film on Kashmir’s disappeared was strong. After nine years of travel and research, Iffat made Khoon Diy Bharav, which has moved viewers in all its screenings.

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A guest at The Hindu’s festival of literature, Lit for Life, in Chennai in January 2017, Iffat answers a few questions:

Can you please tell us about the Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP)?

In 1994, with the support of legal professionals and human rights activists, the families of the victims of Enforced Involuntary Disappearances (EID) in Jammu and Kashmir organised themselves into a collective: The Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP). Over the years APDP has become a movement – an important space for a continuous engagement on issues of justice and accountability. Drawing attention to the trauma of the families engaged in a gruelling struggle against the Indian security establishment, APDP has succeeded not only in breaking the silence over the issue of enforced disappearances in Kashmir, but has also sustained and kept alive a public discourse on resistance and what it means to resist against all odds. APDP, in the very act of its being, poses a challenge to the official discourse of erasure that is being systematically imposed in the public domain in Kashmir.

Your film Khoon Diy Bharav was made over a period of nine years? Can you speak about the work that went into the film? It must have been extremely traumatic for you — living the horrific stories all over again. How did you manage to sail through it? Can you narrate some of these incidents?

I was, in a sense, introduced to the trauma and the grief of the families of the disappeared through the making of my film, Lanka – the other Side of War and Peace. In 2006, almost a year after I finished the film I began working on the issue of enforced disappearances in Kashmir. I had been in touch with Parveena Ahangar whose son became a victim of enforced disappearance in 1990. Parveena had been largely instrumental in bringing the families together under the banner of APDP. She became my constant companion and I travelled all over the valley with her, meeting the families. I was drawn into the struggle, the continuous trauma, the continuous torture the families were going through. Through a process of osmosis, I internalised their struggle and became part of it. I cried and laughed with them, carrying a camera and recording their struggle became an organic process. I was not thinking of the end product.

Through these many years, 2006 to 2010, the movement for azaadi in Kashmir was also going through a tumultuous period. People were coming out into the streets in thousands, young boys were being killed. Resistance was acquiring a new form and people were expressing their agency, reclaiming the movement, so to say ‘snatching it away from the gun’. The affected families kept using the term “Khoon Diy Baarav” which eventually became the title of the film. What they were implying is that blood has flown, it has congealed and sedimented into memory and transformed into resistance. So resistance is a form of justice, while there is no hope of justice from the Indian state. After 2010, I felt I had to come to grips with my material and give it a tangible form. I had more than a 100 hours of material. The editing process was long and agonizing, I made several cuts. Friends were very supportive and their suggestions and feedback was very valuable in shaping the final film.

Army, in Kashmir, is above law so to say. How did they react to your film? I have read of the demonstrations held in certain campuses during the screening of your film.

“If there is a rule of law, why are the armed forces exempt from it?” is a question that Parveena poses in the film several times. This is a challenge that many people find difficult to confront, especially in the current atmosphere of hyper-nationalism in India. They would rather not see it. But I must say that I have extensively screened the film in India and most audiences have been moved by the film and have responded in a very humane way. I get a sense that it reaches out to people rather than raising their hackles.

You have been arrested several times. Can you speak about it?

I haven’t been seriously arrested but have been apprehended several times. Majority of people in Kashmir have experienced that and most certainly anybody roaming around the streets with a camera has to be prepared for it. It is very disconcerting and rather scary, I must admit. But maybe part of being a filmmaker or a journalist is to learn to negotiate and work around these difficult situations. As a director there is also the added responsibility of the crew and the expensive equipment. I think being a woman might have some advantages as you are seen to be less of a threat. It is important to be cautious and to create a certain safety network.

Over 8000 men have disappeared in Kashmir. How are the women coping? Have they reshaped their lives?

The disappeared are all men and the women are left behind to cope. They don’t have a choice, many of them have children, they have to survive and carry on with their lives and are doing that very courageously. They have brought up their children, done their best for them. The women and the families are supportive of each other and APDP is there for them. However, it has taken a big toll, most of them have health problems — physical as well as psychological. There are some women who have remarried and moved on with their lives, but those with children largely have chosen to stay single. Keeping alive the memory of the disappeared is very important, in fact it keeps them going.

Your film about Sri Lanka also explores memory and violence. Do these two experiences – Sri Lanka and Kashmir — have any similarity?

In both cases- Sri Lanka and Kashmir- the conflict has been protracted and the state has used brute military power to repress people’s aspirations and political demands leading to a cycle of violence.

It is inevitable; brute military power can only lead to a shattered social fabric with deep wounds and scars. The state seems to be impervious to that. It doesn’t care.

source:  http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Movies / by Deepa Ganesh / December 29th, 2016