“When I miss her, I go to her closet to sense my daughter’s fragrance.” Arfa Karim‘s Mom said on her 17th birthday.
The words from the teary eyed mother gave me goose bumps.
She was certainly not talking about the perfumes that Arfa adorned, but the odour that she inherently possessed by virtue of her HLA (genetic) type. This was the smell Arfa’s mom associated her with ever since she held her in her arms soon after her birth (even though the mother may not be aware of it, consciously.)
This reminded me of a research paper I read years ago which said the first bond that a mother and child have after birth is through the sense of smell. Babies from the time of birth learn to identify their mother through a strong sense of smell. It is said that within 24 hours, a mother is able to identify her baby’s odour too. A research claims that within 50 hours, infants were able to differentiate between the smell of their mother’s nipple from that of another lactating woman. Studies have shown that when a mother’s nipple from one breast was washed off, 22 out of 30 babies chose to suckle the unwashed side, because of the familiar odour.
Little toddlers, unaware of relationships, differentiate their siblings from friends subconsciously through odours.
It is common knowledge that animals identify and claim their territory through the sense of smell. Dogs smell their masters, and cannot be deceived even by a look alike.
Each one us is endowed with a unique fragrance or scientifically an ‘odour’ type. Our smells are coded by the genes of a group of molecules called the HLA Complex. Our odour type determines the various social cues we receive in the society in the form of attractiveness, favourable or unfavourable social reactions, and even sexual arousal. Furthermore the role of pheromones, the odour producing hormones in animals and humans as a medium for sexual attraction is also well known.
In an interesting study a group of women were asked to smell men’s T-shirts and choose the odour they liked. Majority of them chose the odour type which was different from theirs, hence from a different genetic pool. Perhaps this is nature’s way to create more variation.
In another similar study, women were asked to smell men’s T-shirts and were asked to rate them according to pleasantness. The men who had infectious diseases, (most probably sexually transmitted disease’) were in more than half of the cases labelled ‘putrid’. That’s another one of nature’s ways to minimise the transmission of infections.
My kids often mention:
‘Oh this smell reminds me of Karachi’, or of Delhi or even of ‘that’ person. Though never a subject of research perhaps every place along with its unique sights and sounds, has its own distinct set of smells too. The smells could be related to its fauna or even the food habits there. My mother often remarks; ‘The soil at every place smells different while the water in every place tastes different.’
A Vietnamese friend who recently visited her native place remarked, Hanoi has its unique smell, and it’s even funny how their embassy here smelt the same. Perhaps it’s the fish sauce!
We do spend a handsome amount on buying scents. And many rich and famous spend a fortune in creating a ‘signature’ smell of their own.
Ironically the sense of smell – though a subtle and powerful sense of perception – is subconsciously the least significant in our lives. We may feel empathy for those who are deprived of a sense of sight or sound, but often either ignore or even mock those with loss of smell. Not many of us even know that some people are born with their sense of smell missing. This condition is known as Anosmia. How incomplete their lives must be. We all have experienced small periods of Anosmia or Hyposmia when our noses get blocked during the common cold. We all know how tasteless even the most delicious of foods seem, with a blocked nose. This simply reinforces the hidden fact that before actually tasting, it is the smell which judges the true taste of food.
Hence, our sense of smell and the odours of others, animate or inanimate creates a great bond and sense of belonging.
One can very well imagine how much Arfa’s Mom must be feeling the presence of Arfa in everything that is associated with her. Though Arfa’s sight and sound may have left, her smell shall linger in the place and possessions she has left behind.
Listening to the stories and anectodes of Mehboob-e-Ilahi( Beloved of God) was a norm as kids. A Mamoo, an ardent follower of Sufism, who lived in Jaipur was the source. If he ever happened to pass by Delhi, visit to the ‘Dargah’ was a mandatory. And when in Delhi, he had to visit his sister too i.e. my mother.
He brought meethi kheels (sugar coated puffballs) every time he came from Dargah, and was ever willing to narrate to us the stories of love between Mehbub-e-Ilahi and his favourite disciple.
On the other hand I saw my not so religious father’s( who also hailed from a Maulvi family) love for Amir Khusrau’s Persian poetry, and a tall tower of audio cassettes he had piled up next to his music system.
Honestly for years until early teens I did not know who Mehboob-e-Ilahi or that disciple were and where the Dargah was. We never visited. All I knew, Ammi went with Mamoojan a few times.
Once , when during a story time, Mamoojan was corrected by my father, about a Persian verse by Amir Khusro, did I realise that there was a correlation.
“Such a great poet had a Pir?” was my instant jerky reaction. Pirs in my mental dictionary had a negative meaning and image.
Equally instant was my father’s reaction: “ Hazrat Nizamuddin was a great scholar, it’s the people later who made him a Pir, and now have opened a whole business in his name.”
Mamoojan just gave a slight smile, and as always drowned again in his love for Mehboob-e-Ilahi, continued the story.
It was then to reinforce the great bond that existed between Hazrat Nizamuddin and Amir Khusrau, did he tell of these incidents, which now I can quote with the Persian verses he might have mentioned.
Just to make it clear, most of the stories have been passed on as word of mouth, and hence I call them anectodes.
Anectode 1:
When Hazrat Nizamuddin passed away Amir Khusrau was away, in some other city, attending to the orders of a King. As he learnt of the sad news he rushed back and went straight to the fresh grave of his master.There he rolled in the mud and tore off his clothes in agony. Then came these words:
Gori sove sej par mukh per dale kes Chal Khusro ghar aapne, rain (not saanjh) bhaee chahu des. The lovely maiden lies finally on a wreath of flowers, her tresses covering her face, O Khusro, turn back home now, dusk has set in all over.”
Amir Khusrau was never the same after his Pir’s death. And it was only in six months that Amir Khusrau also passed away.
He was, as per the desire of the disciple and Pir both, buried close by. This is now known as a “chabootra-e-yaar’ ( the pedestal of friend).
One can see this as a raised platform with red sandstone carved fence, around the grave.
The Pir also reciprocated his disciple’s love and affection, and is believed to have remarked: “If shariyat would allow me, I would want Khusrau and I to be buried in the same grave.”
His followers believe that Hz Nizamuddin instructed that “Those who visit my grave should first pay respect at Khusrau’s .”
Anectode 2:
Amir Khusrau was away for a royal trip. A disciple of Hz Nizamuddin came to him asking for some souvenir from his Pir. Since the Pir had nothing to offer, he asked the disciple to take away his slippers.
Incidentally, on the way the disciple and Amir Khusrau’s paths crossed each other. And Khusrau remarked:
Shaikh mi aayad, Bu-e Shaikh mi aayad”.
(I smell my master, I smell my master).
On knowing that the man had in possession the slippers of his Pir, Khusrau gave away all his wealth that he had on him and bought back those slippers.
Anectode 3:
The two were sitting at the bank of river Yamuna in Delhi when Hz Nizamuddin (wearing a cap crooked way), saw some men taking a dip in the river with a reverence as a worship. He remarked: Har qaum raast raahay, deenay wa qibla gaahay (Every sect has a faith, a qibla which they turn to.)
Pat came the reply from Khusrau: Men qibla raast kardam, ber terf-e kajkulaahay. (I have straightened my qibla in the direction of this crooked cap)
Anectode 4:
It is the most interesting of all anectodes, and if true (I do not doubt, but these stories have been passed through word of mouth), then it is remarkable to have this quality of Persian and Brij Bhasha poetry from an eight year old.
It is said that Khusrau’s mother brought her eight year old son to the place where Hazrat Nizamuddin ( a renowned scholar and respectable man) resided.
Instead of entering the premises Khusrau sat outside and narrated: Tu aan shahi ke ber aiwan-e qasrat Kabutar gar nasheenad, baaz gardad Ghareeb-e mustamand-e ber der aamed Be-yaayad andaroon, ya baaz gardad You are a king at the gate of whose palace, even a pigeon becomes a hawk. A poor traveller has come to your gate, should he enter, or should he return?
And that Hazrat Nizamuddin who himself was 23 then, came out (some say he sent out servants) and replied: Be-yaayad andaroon mard-e haqeeqat Ke ba ma yek nafas hamraaz gardad Agar abla buvad aan mard-e naadan Azaan raah-e ke aamad baaz gardad Oh you the man of reality, come inside, so you become for a while my confidant, but if the one who enters is foolish , then he should return the way he came.
Hearing this Khusrau knew that he has come to the right place and hence entered into his guidance.
Having reread Khusrau, several times over since then, I have came across some of the records, which go further to say that- telling his mother of his excitement to have found the Pir, Khusrau composed these beautiful verses: Aaj rung hai hey maa rung hai ri Moray mehboob kay ghar rang hai ri Sajan milaavra, sajan milaavra, Sajan milaavra moray aangan ko Aaj rung hai…….. Mohay pir paayo Nijamudin aulia Nijamudin aulia mohay pir payoo Des bades mein dhoondh phiree hoon Toraa rung man bhayo ri……, Jag ujiyaaro, jagat ujiyaaro, Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai, Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri. What a glow everywhere I see, Oh mother, what a glow; I’ve found the beloved, yes I found him, In my courtyard; I have found my pir Nizamuddin Aulia. I roamed around the entire world, looking for an ideal beloved; And finally this face has enchanted my heart. The whole world has been opened for me, Never seen a glow like this before. Whenever I see now, he is with me, Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself; Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved; What a glow, Oh, what a glow.
In my ignorance, I bluntly asked Mamoojan,”What was so great in Hazrat Nizamuddin that even an accomplished man like Amir Khurau revered him so much?”
I remember Mamoojan reply, “He was a great pious man, a Wali. That is why he was called Mehboob-e-Ilahi ( the beloved of Allah)”.
To tell you the truth, I wasn’t entirely convinced then, but then years later, while getting into the colors of Amir Khusrau’s poetry, I did my own research.
I found that Hazrat Nizamuddin was a great scholar of Quran. He was truly a very pious man, who prayed a lot and fasted each day of the week.
There were free meals ( langar) at his residence, each day, in which Amir Khusrau actively took part.
He led a very simple, austere life, wore at times torn clothes, and ate extremely simple food.
But what really convinced me of why Amir Khusrau revered him so much was this incident of Hazrat Nizamuddin , which so speaks volumes of the greatness of this Pir of Amir Khusrau:
Once some of the staunchest of enemies of Hazrat Nizamuddin, threw thorn on the way he was to pass. He walked over them, bare feet, without any complaint. And with his sole bleeding, he prayed that every thorn that had pierced him become a red rose( like the color of his oozing blood) in the grave of the thrower.
Mehboob-e-Ilahi that he was, he is said to have remarked: “If a man places a thorn in your way, and you place a thorn in his way, soon there will be thorns everywhere.”
With all this in the background, now this poetry by Amir Khusrau sounds even more melodious…
The Confederation of Indian Industry (CII) some time back recommended promoting economic cooperation between India and Pakistan by focusing on information technology (IT), entertainment and healthcare.
Yes, “Healthcare”, I shout.
After all the other two are thriving and will take care of themselves. I remember in the mid-nineties, when my father-in-law, a doctor himself, was diagnosed with a serious medical problem. Frantic tests at various local institutions recommended that he undergo a procedure that wasn’t very commonly performed in Pakistan. He was all set to go to the west which required large expenses.
It was then that my awareness about a particular institution in India, where I had grown up and attended medical college, came in handy. I persuaded him to get examined there. We went to New Delhi, and he returned to Pakistan treated at one tenth of the cost it would have required in the west. I became an instant ‘doted’ upon daughter-in-law in his eyes. All his initial reservations about his son marrying an Indian disappeared overnight.
The true potential of medical cooperation between the two countries was dramatically highlighted when Noor Fatima, a two-and-a-half year old baby girl, went to Bangalore by the Lahore-Delhi bus in 2003. In fact, the bus service was resumed in part to allow her to make the journey. She was literally given a red carpet at the hospital as well as by the media.
Just a few days ago there was news of a 10 month old baby being taken from as far away as Qila Abdullah near Chaman in Balochistan to Bangalore, India for a heart surgery, a free treatment thanks to the joint efforts of Rotary India Humanity Foundation (RIHF) and Rotary Pakistan with Aman ki Asha, the peace initiative of the Jang Group of Pakistan and the Times of India Group. It is heartening to know that thanks to this rightly named ‘Heart to Heart’ initiative, now over 60 Indian and Pakistani children from poor families have been able to undergo life-saving heart surgeries in India.
As this people-to-people interaction in health, as in other fields, goes on, it is clear that no animosity or cold temperatures at the top level can freeze the warm relations between the ordinary Pakistanis and Indians. Our common heritage, common interests and above all a concern for each other will never dampen this warmth.
However, there is a dire need to extend this at a wider and higher level. The recent statements from the Indian and Pakistani business communities could well be the trigger. The top levels of the corridors of power need to formulate policy along these lines to bring a real impact at community level.
With reports about a case of Polio being found recently at Wagah, Pakistan, it becomes essential for strong policy decisions to be made at the top level, trickling down to the masses, to combat the spread of such crippling diseases.
India and Pakistan are among the four countries of the world where Polio is endemic. Our proximity will not enable either to achieve the ambitious plan of making Polio extinct, without mutual cooperation.
Looking at both countries from the UN lens, India and Pakistan are both termed ‘out of track’ when it comes to achieving the 2015 target for the Millennium Development Goal (MDG) 4 – the reduction of infant mortality. With a 1.4 billion population in the region, this means millions of children and babies are at risk. Failing to achieve an optimal Infant Mortality Rate will mean that a gigantic number of children being deprived of the opportunity to survive. Does that not warrant a joint concerted effort for both countries to come ‘on track’?
Similarly, in the MDG 5, the reduction of the Maternal Mortality Rate, again, both the countries are unlikely to meet the target in 2015. India has done better, but in both countries, far too many women die during childbirth. We certainly have great room for cooperation in this field too, as overpopulation, women’s illiteracy, and violence against women are among the common problems that both countries face. Isn’t it common sense to share information and experiences and work together to eradicate these problems?
MDG 6 deals with the Infectious diseases, like Tuberculosis, Malaria and HIV. India has done a good job in stabilising HIV, bringing down the prevalence rate from 0.36% in 2006 to 0.31% in 2009 (UNAIDS Global report on HIV/AIDS, 2010). In Pakistan the HIV/AIDS prevalence is low among the general population (<0.05%), but according to UN reports, it is increasing rapidly in high risk groups. The UN categorises Pakistan as a high risk country for the spread of HIV/AIDS. (http://bit.ly/UNmdg-mm).
Doesn’t it make sense for Pakistanis dealing with HIV/AIDS control to learn from India’s experience? Isn’t prevention better than cure?
Malaria is still a problem that both countries have not been able to tackle. According to a recent World Health Organisation (WHO) report, a third of the world’s countries will manage to eliminate Malaria, but adds that “the future in the South Asia region isn’t bright.”
India battles with a heavy burden of Malaria. Pakistan too has almost half a million cases of Malaria each year. A common problem with a common purpose of defeating it could help the region also realise the dream of being Malaria free. After all, countries closer to home like the Maldives have managed to do that, and Sri Lanka is considered close to eliminating the menace.
The mid-2000s saw Dengue epidemics in the Indian cities of Delhi and others in northern India. Today, Lahore and others in Pakistan are battling with it. It was a proud moment for the region when expertise from Sri Lanka and medicines from India helped Pakistan to combat the illness.
We have no choice but to combat such problems through joint efforts. The border security guards can check humans for visa, but mosquitoes are above such restrictions.
But besides the recent Dengue cooperation, there has hardly been any cooperation in the field of health at the top policy-making level. The only other cooperation worth a mention is the Polio drops being given to under-fives at Wagah border, and the fumigation of the Samjhota Express against the H1N1 flu virus.
Such small examples of cooperation are nothing compared to the gigantic cooperation that takes place in the field of entertainment. It is much more critical to come together on the immensely more serious issue of health. The stalwarts in this field must emulate the entertainment sector towards substantial cooperation.
We have a common geography, ecology, genetics, cultural practices and health problems. I am sure we can find common solutions too, that will save both countries much valuable time and money. United in health we shall stand, divided we shall fall with illnesses.
Dr Ilmana Fasih is an Indian gynaecologist and health activist married to a Pakistani. Blog: Blind to Bounds https://thinkloud65.wordpress.com/
Other children who have also been given a second chance through AKA-Rotary’s Heart to Heart initiative
Ilmana Fasih recounts some examples of the ‘Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb’ and centuries’ old, peaceful coexistence beyond religious divides
An otherwise sane looking person I met at a party recently started to spew venom laced with conspiracy theories about “Hindu Muslim animosity”. To top it all, he tried to use my own life to justify his views, insisting that my going
to live in Pakistan after marrying a Pakistani was proof of the natural divide. He refused to accept my views that a peaceful coexistence between people of different faiths is possible or that my going to Pakistan from India was not based on religious reasons.
His hate-filled thoughts kept me sleepless for hours that night. But talking over the phone to my mother in Delhi later, I was cheered up by her mention of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb. Our conversation triggered off thoughts about this beautiful, fluid culture that refuses to be boxed up and compartmentalised.
The name Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb is as beautiful as its spirit. It refers to the centuries’ old, peaceful coexistence between Hindus and Muslims of the subcontinent. Not only did the two faiths borrow cultural practices from each other, but they also exchanged each other’s vocabularies. So much so that now one is hardly able to find any difference between spoken Urdu and spoken Hindi.
The Nawabs of Awadh in north India in the 1700s are considered the pioneers of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb. At least, the term was coined in their times. But on ground it existed well before that era.
The starkest example of this syncretic culture is the Purana Hanuman Mandir in Lucknow, which is crowned by an Islamic symbol, a crescent. According to legend, the temple was built by Nawab Saadat Ali Khan to honour the wish of his mother, who had dreamt of building a temple. The tradition of honouring the Nawab’s gesture still continues when the Muslims in the area put up stalls of water during the Bada Mangal festival at the temple, and Hindus manage sabeels (stalls) of sherbet and water during Muharram in reverence for Imam Hussain.
Not far from Lucknow, the rulers of the Hindu holy city of Kashi (also known as Benaras or Varanasi) observed the Azadari (the mourning) during Muharram, wearing black on Ashura. Ustad Bismillah Khan, the renowned Shehnai maestro, began his career as a shehnai player in Vishwanath temple, Kashi. In fact, many of the musicians, Hindu and Muslim, who play in the temples, fast during Ramazan and also observe Vrat during the Hindu Navratras.
Even today, Muslim artisans in Kashi/Varanasi who make Taziyas for Muharram also make effigies of Ravan for Dussehra, a friend tells me. Hindus too participate in Muharram processions and make Taziyas in many cities, notably Lucknow.
Similarly a Sindhi friend talks of the centuries-old peace and harmony between the Hindus and Muslims of Sindh. Adherents of both faiths revere and pray together at the shrine of Jhuley Lal, she says. The shrine walls are inscribed
with Arabic verses as well as Hindu names of Gods. An age-old common greeting of Sindhi Hindus and Muslims is “Jhulelal Bera-Hee-Paar”.
Karachi’s 150-year old cremation ground for Hindus has a Muslim caretaker, although there are many Hindus in the city. This caretaker is responsible for cleaning the statues and lighting the lamps in the temple, and takes care of the urns that contain the ashes of the dead after cremation, until their loved ones immerse the ashes in water.
Cultural practices in Sindh are a fusion of the two cultures. If the Hindus, fervently use Allah as the reference to God, the Muslims touch the feet of their elderly as traditions borrowed from each other’s cultures.
The contribution of Sufi poetry towards this peaceful coexistence, from Kabirdas and Amir Khusro, to Bulleh Shah on the other side, is well known.
Beyond faith, at the cultural level, the Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb has seen some beautiful creations like the Ghazal style of singing and the classical dance form Kathak.
Kathak’s journey from ancient times to its present form merits a walk-through. The word “katha” comes from “katha” or story telling. It has its roots in ancient times, when storytellers narrated epics or mythological stories like Shakuntala, and the Mahabharata through dance forms in temples. However with the arrival of Mughals, the dance, enticed to come to the courts, developed into a more Persianised form. The Kathak dancers adopted the whirling
from the dervishes to the ‘chakkars’. The rhythm of the footsteps found harmony with the beat of the tabla recently discovered by Amir Khusro. The female Kathakaars (storytellers) abandoned the sari of ancient times for the angarkha and churidar pyjama. The language of narration also transformed from Sanskrit to Brij Bhasha and then Urdu.
There may be more examples of such coexistence and development in other regions of the subcontinent too.
Those who propagate conspiracy theories and narrate stories of hate and disharmony need to know that even with the physical separation between India and Pakistan, the spirit of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb lives on. The lack of communication between the two countries, particularly after the 1965 and 1971 wars, has not managed to dampen the natural instincts of sharing these cultures.
Farid Ayaz and Abu Muhammed, the renowned Qawwals from Pakistan continue to sing Bhajans which their gharana has been singing for the last 300 years. On the other side are Wadali brothers who sing Bulleh Shah Kaafis and Naats with the same devotion. Despite all odds, Sheema Kermani and her students in Pakistan have continued to keep the dance forms, not only of Kathak, but also Bharatnatyam and Odissi, alive and known in Pakistan.
The recent collaboration between Zeb and Haniya from Pakistan and Shantanu and Siwanand Kirkire of India yielded the soft melody “Kaho kya khayal hai” in a beautiful blend of Dari and Hindi. I could not help relate it to the Zehaal-e-Miskeen composition by Amir Khusro which was a beautiful fusion of Persian and Brij Bhasha.
And now another peacenik in the form of Shahvar Ali Khan makes a music video titled ‘No Saazish No Jang’ (No Conspiracy, No War). It is heartening to see the visuals, and hear the voices of Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah and Bapu Mahatama Gandhi together in the backdrop.
It is not possible to list all collaborations between the two countries and across religious divides, particularly in fields of films, music, health (the most significant being the Heart to Heart initiative by Rotary and Aman ki Asha). But all these initiatives testify to the desire for peace, not hate.
As for me, convinced that each of these efforts towards peaceful coexistence is based on foundations going back centuries, I slide into my bed, comforted by the faith that peace, not hate, will ultimately prevail.
It’s just a matter of time.
Dr Ilmana Fasih is an Indian gynaecologist and health activist married to a Pakistani. Her blog is Blind to Bounds https://thinkloud65.wordpress.com/
My way of prayer for Peace between India and Pakistan, today-December 18, 2011.
I thank everyone who bothered to comment on my blog ‘An Indian moves to Pakistan’ in Express Tribune Blog ( December 9, 2011), and gave their input, be it positive or negative.
I would take this opportunity to broadcast loud and clear my childhood dream of a world without borders and wars.
Let me make it very clear, I do not have any ill-wish to undermine the sovereign political borders between India and Pakistan or between any other countries. My dream is to erase the psychological borders that are etched in our minds in the shape of prejudices and hatred for the other.
I would tell those friends who pity me, please pat me,instead. For I am an Indian Pakistani.
So what if I do not hold an Indian passport, I have 24 years of fascinating memories, an excellent upbringing that taught me to speak without fear, sealed in my heart as an Indian.
Pakistani, I am not by passport but by the love and respect that I have got from numerous Pakistanis, who took no time to accept me as one of them.
I own both the lands and a good 1.4 billion are my fellow compatriots.
What more could translate my feelings than this poem I wrote some time ago?,
To both the lands I belong Yeah my heart throbs alike for the two lands Yeah my love is equally blind for the two cultures. Yeah my voice sings songs of love in two languages Yeah my eyes see identical dream for the two peoples. Yeah my lips whisper the same prayers for the two communities Yeah my heart aches on hearing hatred screamed by bigots from two faiths Yeah my tears roll witnessing the bloodshed by the misguided in two nations But, I feel no difference between the two names the world calls INDIA and PAKISTAN For the hammock of my life hangs between my two beloved lands I call my HOMELANDS.
I feel equally passionate about the happenings of Lok Pal bill as much as I was about the NRO case in Supreme Court.
When it was cricket World cup I got to support two teams, and whenever there is an India-Pakistan match, unlike the other billion and a half who dread for the result, I rejoice since if any team wins, my team is the winner.
I find divine tranquility in reading Kaafis of Bulleh Shah, as much as I drown in the depths of Kabir Dohas.
And I know how Kareem’s nalli nihari from Delhi tasted before it began its journey to end up a Sabri’s maghaz Nihari in Karachi.
I wear a Kanjeevaram sari and dangle a Sindhi embroidered bag together, and still boast both of them are my country’s handicrafts.
To those who ridiculed or criticised me, please shed the word ‘hate’ from your dictionaries. Look beyond prejudices.
Believe me, I bear witnesss that there are millions and millions on both sides who want to live in peace with themselves and with their neighbours.
For you I have this poetry as a reminder:
Oh the souls of the subcontinent, Let for amity be our energies spent. Arent we neighbours? Shall be forever, Let being friends be our real endeavour.
How can the love our hearts not seal, How can the vibes our minds not feel? How can my eyes and your deny, Shared treasures that make us sigh.
Himalayas on our heads so stand, Lofty mountains guarding our lands. The twist and turns in the Indus river, Who’s ancient stories, makes us shiver
Enchanting Thar and its golden sands, Weave beauty in each of its strands. And then the grand Arabian Sea, That enthrals both you and me.
How could we now live apart, We’ve been one from the start. Oh! Those lines on our lands sketched, Let they not on our hearts be etched.
We have seen firsthand how hatred leads to conflicts, conflicts to instability and then to an excuse to more defence expenditure. We have already wasted measurable revenue which could very well have been used for the alleviation of poverty, hunger, illiteracy, women issues which exist in astronomical proportions on both sides of the border.
Why should a handful of bigots sabotage the road to peace we need to take reach the goal of prosperity? We do not have any other way out, but peace.
Our histories, our geographies are common, Our genetics, our problems are common, And with them all , our destinies are woven.
A spirit of mutual cooperation would lead to prosperity for the 1. 4 billion on both sides and in turn would mean a strong and peaceful South Asia.
Please think.
Caption: If my hand can heal, why cant INDO-PAK relations.
PS: A special thanks to Kamran Rehmat, a great supportive Face Book friend, who first suggested the Indian-Pakistani term, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to grab it and own it. 🙂
Here are three stories from my experience, which I personally saw growing with time.
They all had two things in common.One, that they were all classical examples of domestic abuse, and secondly, that I was helpless in being of any help to them.
Ahmed was a 55 years old Pakistani man living in the neighbourhood. We did not know his wife for months, till when he once asked my husband if I could see her, because she was pregnant and had some complaints. Zubeida, his wife came to visit me as a patient.
With a toddler in her lap, she seemed way younger than her husband. After several visits it was revealed that she was his second wife and almost 25 years younger to him and he had married her 3 years ago. Ahmed had lived in US in his youth and married a local there. They had 3 kids and were together for 12 years after which they got divorced. He moved to the Middle East and ran a restaurant there. Now decided to marry Zubeida, from his clan, who had been a widow with three young children. So parents married her off to Ahmed, a well off businessman, while her three children, 6, 4 and 1, ( when she married) were being taken care by her parents. By the second marriage Zubeida had a 2 year old boy and was now pregnant again.
On being asked, that I never saw her in the neighbourhood, she revealed that when her husband went to work, he put a lock outside the house. And that she was instructed to not talk to anyone in the neighbourhood and tell details of their life. She wasn’t allowed to have a domestic help either.
She confided that she missed her little kids who were in Pakistan. She barely talked to them once a month because her husband didn’t like when she cried while talking to them on phone. She hadn’t seen them since she came there, three years ago. Her husband insisted that now she should be content with the kids that she is having from him.
On being informed that this was ‘abusive’, she justified that her husband had suffered a lot at the hands of that American woman, who claimed half of his property at divorce, and took away the custody of the kids. And hence, his trust on women has been eroded. “He always provided me with good clothes, and if I did not cook, he brought food from his restaurant.”
She said her parents were happy that despite having been widowed with three kids, she was lucky to have found a nice husband. So they do not like when she complains that she misses her older kids. She also did not want to be Thankless to God for the same. After she delivered, I never heard from her until she was pregnant again for the third time.
Misbah (a local ), was a doctor herself. She had married a Mutawwah (a mullah) , as his second wife, making all the justifications and necessary quotations from the religion for her act. And also narrating the virtues of marrying a religious person. Despite all the warnings from all of us at work, she went ahead.
For six months, it was sheer honeymoon for her, and she was the most obedient a wife could be. If he asked her to quit her work in the middle to see him, she would throw a sick leave and go. If he demanded her to cook something in the middle of the night, she would comply happily, for she thought she had to win his heart, over the first wife.
It was heartbreaking to see a bold friend of ours lose all her personality all of a sudden. News that she was pregnant transcended her to the seventh sky.
Six months into her pregnancy, she was devastated to discover her husband married a third time. On protesting, her husband stopped visiting her. She again resorted back to the same vicious cycle of pleasing him to draw his attention in competition with the other two wives. And the demands to please him kept multiplying exponentially. The extent his demands were such that if she talked on telephone for longer than his liking, he would leave and go to one other wife.
The complaint that, “she wasn’t paying attention to me”.
And so dutiful was he, that he never shared a penny from his own pocket with our friend, and possibly with the other two wives too, who were all working women.
We cried ‘he’s abusive’, but she wasn’t ready to accept it.
Her simple argument, “He never hits me, and that it is my duty to please my husband”. We were left helpless.
Saira was a Indian nurse, who had come to work in the gulf. From the first month of the marriage, she handed over every penny of her salary to her husband. They were to save money to buy a land back home. Even a small demand of a dress, would need her to beg him for hours before he complied. And when they did buy the piece of land it was in his name.
For Saira, it was “Okay, because he is the man of the house. “
However, 12 years after their marriage, her husband fell in love with her own best friend, and they got married secretly. When Saira came to know, she was pregnant with her second child. From then on, she refused to hand him the salary, and this is where her physical abuse began.
Putting a brave front, she refused to comply. So his next demand was that she quit the job. She almost left the job, until we all colleagues intervened and convinced her not to.
She did ultimately, but the cycle of physical violence kept on unabated. Our cries to the people of authority were of no avail, for it was justified to have more than one wife and she was unreasonable, in being angry about it. Hence, his resorting to physical violence was justified.
Saira was unwilling to take any step to walk out on him because despite all the miseries, she still “loved him”.
Saira’s family, too, was of the opinion, “Men are all like this, women have to bear it always. “
These are just a handful of stories, from the barrage of incidences of domestic violence I have come across during my work experience.
For most women, if they were not being hit, they were not being abused. Emotional, financial or any other form of violence except physical was no abuse.
Unfortunately, in most of the cases it was the ignorance or denial on the part of sufferer, or the cover given to it through religious or cultural practices, or lack of the necessary infrastructure to lodge a complaint, that one felt helpless and miserable seeing these women continue to suffer.
And to tell you the truth, with them, I suffered too.
PS: The names of the women have been changed.
Next Blog to follow soon: Myths and Facts about Domestic Violence
Ya Habeebi, My sweetheart. Illeil wi samah, wi ingomo iw amaro, amaro wi saharo. The night and its sky, its stars, its moon, moon and keeping awake all night. Winta wana, ya habeebi ana, ya hayati ana. You and me my sweetheart, my life.
-And the closing lines:
Ya habeebi yalla in3eish fi 3yoon illeil, . Winool lilshams ta3ali, ta3ali ba3di sana, mosh abli sana. My sweetheart let us live in the eyes of the night and tell the sun come over, come after one year not before. Fi leilate hob hilwa, bi alfi leila iw Leila, In a sweet night of love, in one thousand and one nights. Bikolli il3omr, howa il3omri eih ghair Leila zayyi illeila. They say it is the life. What is life, but a night like tonight, like tonight.
Fortunatley I grew up listening to Umm Kulthoom and the tales of her live performances from my Professor father. I saw my father 90% times surrounded by books, but whenever he played Umm Kulsoom’s audios on the deck, in his leisure time, it was hard to envision he was the same man. I feel the poverty of expression to describe my feelings…
He would often exclaim that he got three things from his stay in Cairo in the early sixties—his PhD, a knowledge of Arabic, in the flawless Egyptian accent and love for Umm Kulsoom.
In the 1950s and 60s her concerts were broadcast once a week on Radio.
“On Thursday nights, the streets of Cairo would empty as people gathered around radio sets to hear the great singer.” I heard my father repeat this a countless times said with a twinkle in his eyes.
And infact, in honour of those broadcasts, Radio Egypt still broadcasts her songs every first Thursday at 10 pm.
It is hard in words to describe her charisma. But listening to her enchanting Enta Omri, Alf Leila o Leila and other songs over and over, it wasn’t hard to imagine the euphoria that was created in her concerts.
Umm Kulthum was, indeed, a master at casting a spell over her audiences.
Maker of a documentary on her, ‘A Voice Like Egypt ’ Virginia Danielson says “Umm Kulthum’s concerts were famous for the spontaneous cheers that would break out whenever her performance seemed to close the gap between poetry and emotion. Poetry is a deeply revered art form in the Middle East.”
She gives an example. “When you hear Umm Kulthum sing, “I’m afraid your heart belongs to somebody else,” in the song “Ana Fe Entezarak,” she nails that anguish. And the way she treats the word ‘somebody else,’ which is ‘inse’en,’ is just heartrending. You can hear the feeling of the poem come through in the way that she sings it.”
Her music had a unique quality called ‘tarab’ ( best translated as enchantment).
“Tarab is a concept of enchantment,” Danielson says. “It’s usually associated with vocal music, although instrumental music can produce the same effect, in which the listener is completely enveloped in the sound and the meaning in a broad experiential sense, and is just completely carried away by the performance.”
Part of tarab is the idea that listeners are as important as singers; that there’s a powerful, spiritual exchange between them that is crucial to the performance.
“But what it refers to is the experience of really being carried away by the music. People would tell preposterous stories about getting up and leaving the house and not knowing where they were going, and just all kinds of experiences of completely forgetting your troubles, completely being outside yourself, having been transported by the experience.”
Bob Dylan remarked; “She’s great. She really is. Really great.”
She was referred to as the Lady by Charles de Gaulle and Salvadore Dali, Jean Paul Satre, Bono were among her fans.
Lastly, do envy me for having been nourished on this music since very young :).
It was yet another time that I attempted to read this novel cover to cover. The first time I had tried to read it was as a teenager when I overheard my father mention that the classic Robinson Crusoe was inspired by this very book.
This time the intentions were different as I remembered reading the book earlier, had mentioned in the beginning that there existed a great difference in perception of religion by a common man and by the intelligentsia.
The book in mention is the philosophical novel called ‘Hayy bin Yaqzan’ ( meaning Alive the son of Awake), written in 12th C by Ibn Tufail. This is the third most translated book from Arabic to other languages the first two being Quran and Arabian Nights.
The story in summary is that somehow (these details need another blog in itself) a newborn infant named Hayy, seems to land on the shores of an uninhabited island. His cries are heard by, a doe (a she-deer), who had recently lost her newborn kid. Her maternal instincts still afresh, she grabs the baby, suckles him and raises him under her protection, until she dies some seven years later.
The little boy being exceptionally brilliant, not just acquires survival skills, he begins to question and investigate things around him. He covers his exposed private parts with leaves, seeing other animals had them hidden behind fur.
Death of his mother doe perplexes him and he dissects her to realise the all that organs that his Mom was made of, are intact, except for some invisible ‘thing’ that is missing. And hence he gets a hint of the concept of soul.
He learns to light fire that enables him to cook, keep warms and protect from predatory animals. The fire also symbolises the ‘fire within him’ for the quest of knowing how things happen.
He notices animals and plants though being different, have a common factor, that they were living and need nourishment to survive . He compares the difference between the living and the non living objects around him like rocks, but then they were alike that they all decayed with time.
He was amazed at the interdependence of living and non living objects on each other, and that all had their their needs being fulfilled in harmony.
It hints to him that he too had a role in helping others around him. He takes care of the sick and injured animals, saves plants entangled by the parasitic vines and unblocks the streams by removing boulders from their path. He experiences an unprecedented tranquility in doing so, and realises this attainment of happiness is far beyond his worldly pleasures.
Through various observations he sees ‘one common reality’ of all existence ( of the living or non living) and that all of them are ultimately passed on to nothingness.
He gradually gets convinced that all the disciplined occurrences governed by Laws of Nature are controlled by ‘some power’ which perhaps is a Divine Power.
The experiences make him undergo a spiritual awakening which, according to author, is beyond the description in words. The book describes him whirling like the ‘sufi dervishes’ in spiritual ecstasy.
As he was living and experiencing spirituality in isolation, on a neighbouring island, the inhabitants were practicing religion with all it’s worldly rituals. They had associated material values with their faith and they refrained to delve deeper into the essence of faith.
However, one man amongst them, not satisfied with this practice of faith gives up the social life and comes to inhabit the island where Hayy was living. Their encounter enables Hayy to learn the man’s language. The man identifies that Hayy has understood the religion better than those who were socially taught through scriptures. Hayy gets enthusiastic to change them and the superfluous practises. He decides to go to the island and convince people.
In the society, Hayy is well received by the people, as long as he agrees with their literal interpretation of their scriptures. But when Hayy attempts to encourage them to dig deeper to understand —of ‘one reality’ and of a ‘peaceful coexistence’ they get aggressive and reject him. Hence after sometime, convinced that their capacity to think beyond what they think, is not possible, he begs sorry to them, gives up on them. He tells them to follow what they think is right and comes back to his solitary world to continues his ‘practice’ of faith.
Reading through the novel, I could not help but think and relate it to the current scenario. The common man has resorted to a certain worldly guidelines and have refused to shake their brains to think ‘indepth’ of the true purpose of faith, which is more to support and help each other, rather than shun or kill anyone who differs.
One lesson that this 12th Century novel conveys is of human mind’s innate capacity to discover Laws of Nature and even the capability of some to discover abstract mystical secrets unaided by scriptures or social pressures..
Second lesson that Ibn Tufail mentions in the beginning but is more clearly put by a commentator of the book Israel Drazin is “…that wise people, philosophers, and religious leaders, must refrain from telling what they understanding to the general population. This is especially true, he states, about religion. Organized religion, as understood by the masses, is necessary for the masses, but wrong for people with understanding because it is not true.”
And I for once is still unsure of the second lesson…
If true then… .. it even sends into me shivers, that will there be the same end to our saga as that of this novel, that those who attempt to think out of the box, shall have to beg them sorry and let them carry on with their business. And the masses shall remain as ignorant as ever.
At least, knowing Kabir, Bulleh Shah and other mystics’ in history, the same had been their fate so far.
Blind to Bounds 
You must be logged in to post a comment.