Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Onward, Sir Salman: In support of knighthood for luminous prose


Okay, so I am not a huge fan of the monarchy (product of a republic, you see) or for that matter ridiculous honours from the Queen that can apparently be purchased for a good price. So when the news broke that Salman Rushdie had made the Queen’s annual list of honours being banto-ed, I smiled at the thought of “Sir” Rushdie, spent a brief minute imagining the paroxysms of joy “Lady” Padma must be experiencing, and then flipped the page.

Then came the inevitable flurry of news reports suggesting that the “Muslim world” was outraged by the honour bestowed on Mr. Rushdie. Dear departed General Zia’s son explained in the Pakistani parliament – and apparently with all seriousness - how the honour “justified” suicide bombings. Violent (but controlled) mobs took to the streets in Multan and Rawalpindi, and apparently the British High Commissioner to Islamabad was summoned to explain Her Majesty’s actions. In short, the usual fun and games that accompany living in the 21st century.

I still didn’t think much of it – beyond rolling my eyes (again!) at a bunch of unfunny loony tunes indulging in a bit of off-hours violence in the name of Islam. Then this morning, I found the esteemed Times of London circulating a petition in support of “Sir” Rushdie's knighthood. That got my attention!

Did that mean Her Majesty (or more appropriately Mr. Brown, the PM-to-be) was going to bow to pressure from the aforementioned loony tunes? Was Mr. Rushdie going to be stripped of his title before even being knighted? Worse still, was the UK again falling into the trap of appeasement (much like our own tottering politicos from back home) of a radical minority that insists on demanding privilege upon privilege with no accompanying attempt at civil, political or social reciprocity.

So being the good Rushdie fan, I promptly signed the petition. I must mention that this petition is open only to UK residents, I presume to ensure a representative sampling of the country’s views rather than violent opposition from the apparently “1.5 billion outraged Muslims of the world” (according to Mr. Haq of the Pakistani Parliament) or support from hundreds of millions of rabble-rousing net savvy Indians (remember the Shilpa episode?).

Of course I have since been wondering about consequences of the whole episode – would the current fracas mean “Sir” Rushdie shall spend more time at rock concerts and fashion shows instead of his desk? Or perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. Perhaps all those bomb threats will curtail his hectic social life and send him back to writing. Oh, for a great novel again from that literary light instead of recycled pulp he seems to have resorted to in the past decade!

More importantly though – and all snide remarks aside - the recent events have reminded me of my discovery of Mr. Rushdie’s opus back when I had turned sixteen and set myself the task of reading through his novels, starting with Midnight’s Children (having been too young to read “adult” literature when it won the Booker).

During those hot summer days in Varanasi, I devoured first Midnight’s Children, then Grimus, and finally Shame. Holding the books with my fingertips so as not to mess up the pages with sweat, I sprawled on the red stone floors of my grandmother’s house, aided only by a pillow under my elbows. Of course, the pillow had to be turned over every ten minutes to its cool side. And after an afternoon of reading, my stomach, knees, back all hurt. But the floor was the only cool part of the house as the unrelenting summer left all linen, clothing, even wood, unbearably hot.

But none of the discomfort mattered. Mr. Rushdie’s novels opened a new world to a teenager who had intuited some of the literary and linguistic realities of writing in English but had found no support from teachers or other writing. Mr. Rushdie demonstrated – and how! – that the English language could be kicked about and reshaped to sound like the language we spoke in the playground and markets. That it needed none of the deference and respect that our teachers (ah, for Catholic schools!) insisted it deserved. That we could ignore the “great (all European) masters” of the novel and tell a story the way we liked. Those were glorious – and much needed - affirmations from a master! Besides, all of it was worth the looks on our teachers’ faces, shocked and blushing above their pristine white habits, when I airily declared that my writing style (shocking as it was) had been influenced by the notorious Salman Rushdie!

At the end of the summer, we moved to New York, a city that I have long since outgrown but is now Rushdie’s home of choice but my collection of Rushdies moved with us. Over the years, I have acquired each of his books and found myself returning to Midnight's Children and Haroun... repeatedly. No longer for inspiration but for pure reading pleasure!

I was in college when Mr. Rushdie published The Satanic Verses. I remember reading the book sprawled on the far more comfortable lawns of the university, basking in the autumn sunlight that turns all of New England gold and red. I remember laughing through much of the book – especially at Gibreel Farishta’s antics and sly references to the Amitabh-Rekha affair. I was an outsider on that New England campus, but The Satanic Verses made me feel like an insider in a world locked to my colleagues. I knew the references, the places, even the language even as they groped in the dark.

Not too much later, the fatwa was declared and Mr. Rushdie forced into hiding. I can’t say I was particularly surprised although the stated reasons seemed a bit untenable. Having studied Islam briefly in school during my father’s sojourn in Pakistan, I searched in vain for the “blasphemous” passages, or at least passages that aren’t already to be found in some form in earlier texts by Muslim writers.

Then on my third reading of the novel, I realised – with the sort of excitement only a young adult can muster – that the Ayatollah wasn’t offended by the “blasphemy.” Mr. Rushdie’s “crime” had been something far simpler and more personal, and of course I had noticed it even at the first reading. Even at the first instance, I had admire his courage in writing the passage where Gibreel looks back to see the radical Islamic leader (quite clearly the esteemed Ayatollah) devouring thousands of his followers. Isn’t it lucky that none of the lunatic religious fringe has bothered reading the novel? How much better to proclaim that the novel insults the prophet than to express offence at being depicted as a murderous, eccentric, irrational opportunist!

That realisation brought another important lesson in becoming a writer. If Mr.Rushdie’s earlier novels had taught me the freedom I could claim – as a writer in English from India – for transforming form and language, The Satanic Verses taught me to value courage as part of the writer’s repertoire of tools.

In the years since those heady days of university, things have changed. Mr. Rushdie’s pen seems to have grown blunt as his social appearances take precedence. Of course, I still rush out to pick up every new novel, only to be disappointed. And amongst certain Indian writers in English, it is now fashionable to run down both Mr. Rushdie’s skill as well as his contribution to all our writing trajectories. And that is indeed a shame – far greater perhaps than the illiterate religious fanatic fringe that threatens violence.

Salman Rushdie's greatest achievement was to blast open the hallowed portals of writing in English for a whole generation of writers from the former colonies. And he did that to the sound of joyous - albeit at times, sly - laughter, with luminous prose that thrilled and delighted. If he never puts down a single word on paper ever again, his oeuvre is worthy of respect. For that alone, his knighthood (and any other honour) is well deserved.

And it is the most appropriate response to the religious loons who demand his head!

Photo courtesy: Times of London

Saturday, May 12, 2007

BMW’s elephant stomps through the Gangetic plains

Full disclosure: I am not a fan of Behen Mayawati (BMW) or a voter for the BSP. Yet over the years, I have developed a grudging respect for this pugnacious grass-roots leader.

Much is already being said about Bahujan Samaj Party’s resounding victory in the Uttar Pradesh legislative polls. Numbers are being examined, caste configurations revisted yet again, Congress is once again pronouncing its defeat as a victory for Rahul Gandhi (won’t they EVER learn?), and the RSS mouthpiece Organiser has already started explaining how BSP’s “soft Hindutva” has trounced BJP’s “half-hearted” Hindutva flip-flop. Of course, the Western papers are too busy explaining how it is a “lower caste” victory and painting it in usual colours of imaginary caste wars. All these have their place, but I wonder why a couple of simple ideas have been left out of the equation.

In the past thirty years, India has relentlessly moved towards aspirational values, privileging these over inherited power and status. While calling us a meritocracy would be going a bit too far, a look at the country’s elite tosses up more “self-made” leaders in most fields – APJ Kalam, Narayanamurthi, Sabeer Bhatia, Shahrukh Khan, and of course the political leadership of people like Mayawati. Beyond their individual achievements, these are all people who made ambition acceptable again for Indians. These men and women are living proofs that old princely privileges maintained by collaboration, or newly gained by toeing Macauley-ists lines are no longer acceptable to the bulk of Indians. And most of India - born in the past forty years - took their lesson to heart. Blame it on the generational shift if you will.

Through out the UP electoral campaign, Rahul Gandhi sounded much like the kids from the recent film Tara Rum Pum: “My daddy is the bestest father, bestest husband, and the fastest racer in the world.” Not a word on his own achievements. There aren't many of those, other than of course enjoying the wealth and status, and showing off the entitlement that is part of his inheritance.

BJP’s “Congress-ification” seems to have been completed in the past years as it reneged on its idea of "party with a difference" and follows the long-standing Congress tradition of sidelining leaders with a mass voter bass (think Uma Bharati amongst others) to keep the fossilized old men in tottering top party office (can we just get MM Joshi and Advani to go away: think Gollum: “Go aways and nevers come back!!!!). Not only are these old men out of touch with the people’s pulse, their constant flip-flopping on core party issues such as UCC and Article 370 is now a tiresome roadshow of power-hungry politicking. Meanwhile, younger leaders with mass appeal are marginalized in favour of insipid foisted-from-the-top names (why has Rajnath Singh president other than because he poses no threat to anyone but the BJP?).

Contrast this to the BSP’s list of candidates who were drawn from the masses. No “raja sahibs” and princelings, or Oxbridge types here. Just plain old-fashioned grassroots activists with a hankering to claim a piece of the national power pie! Is it a surprise that they speak for the bulk of the country that is young, ambitious, and desperate for success?

Is it any surprise that they chose Mayawati? With her humble beginnings, an incredible tenacity and drive as shown by nearly three decades of striving for political power, she stands for more than just Dalit ambition. During her campaign, she spoke of her prime ministerial ambitions. It should be no surprise. She lives in a land and in times, where not only such aspirations are acceptable if not downright desireable. Besides, with each passing day of changes, there is a good chance of achieving ambition, no matter how grand they may appear. As such, and whether she likes it or not, Mayawati embodies the post-emergency, post-Congress India where ambition, ability, and graft can upset older equations of family and entitlements.

There is another point to be noted even as most commentrators talk of caste politics in the heart-land. BSP’s warlike slogan “Tilak, tarazu aur talwar, inpe maro joote char” that had alienated the Brahmin, Kshatriya and Vaishya voters in the 1990’s has been replaced by the far more inclusive (and “Hindu” as the Organiser pointed out)“Haathi nahin Ganesh hai, Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh hai” for the recent elections. The BSP choice of candidates also shows a comprehensive inclusion of castes and religions, ensuring that no section of the populace would be left out of the final power-pie in Lucknow. Mayawati’s speeches – as well as her crack team of advisers – reflects the same inclusive logic. And it is this inclusionary politics that have paid off! And how! After 14 years of hung assembly, UP has thrown up a clear majority in favour of a single party.

If the voters in Bihar had rejected fragmented politics of caste and creed with the last RJD defeat, UP has followed suit. And that bodes well for years to come.

Intellectuals would talk of the “impossibility of the outsider” in India, or point to the historical paucity of social “revolutions” in favour of “reformations” in the land. But the simple fact is that India makes little long-term space for radical ideologies, preferring to absorb all ideas into a “middle way.” So isn’t it ironic that a “self-made” leader like Mayawati has comprehended that basic voter logic better than the “grand old men” of the BJP and Congress’s political “aristocracy”?

One last point: UP results have been announced in the same week as the French presidential ones, and the results could not be more different. Compare the woman-leader from the humblest beginnings who has fought her way into the corridors of power, Mayawati, to the entitled heir of the Austro-Hungarian nobility with ties to the American corridors of power, Sarkozy. I know that we Indians like to crib about our systems, but after watching the political closed-shop that operates in Western Europe, I would take the internal mobility of India!

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Des Mera Rangeela

Last weekend when an international group of party-goers spontaenously broke into a perfectly coordinated performance of Des Rangeela from Fanaa, I was suitably impressed. Okay, I confess that I am partly to blame for this because these monthly parties hosted by the Barcelona-based cultural association Masala were one of my hairbrained ideas way back in 2003. But it is Sheri Ahmed, the president of Masala, who has turned them into such a success!

Back in 2003, India may as well have been a different planet for most people in Barcelona. Yet now the city has a movie theatre dedicated solely to "Bollywood," featured on the Temptations concert circuit in 2005, and is developing a dedicated group of Bollywood lovers.

And Masala continues to lead the charge: hosting parties, organising courses and classes, managing art and photography exhibitions and creating cinema-inspired clothing. The Masala cultural centre is scheduled to open later in the year that will provide an autonomous cultural space for exhibitions, film projections, classes and activities - all centered around our Des Rangeela. Funny - all of this has been done with no governmental funding, no corporate sponsorship, no support from organisations claiming to promote "multiculturalism." Just goes to show - nothing succeeds like passion and hard work!

Catch Masala on: http://club-masala.com