A BLAST FROM THE PAST

An Old article in HT (Patna). At that time I was doing my M.Sc.

My Reviews in WASAFIRI March, 2014

In Alif the Unseen, the American-Egyptian author, G Willow Wilson, fuses Middle Eastern folklores, Islamic mythology, religious philosophy and contemporary history to give us a surreal and gripping novel.

Set in a nameless city of an unnamed and repressive gulf emirate, the protagonist of this story is a young man called Alif, a hacker and gifted computer programmer. Alif runs a clandestine business of providing online protection from the state authorities to anybody (including Islamists and pornographers) who can pay him. Son of an Arab father and an Indian mother, he is in love with a girl named Intisar from an aristocratic family. When his lady love severs all her ties with him after her engagement to a man from her own social class, Alif goes crazy, tries to contact his beloved and in the process he reveals his identity to the state internet security chief, known as ‘the Hand’, who is responsible for all the digital policing.  Meanwhile, Intisar sends Alif a book of stories similar to The Arabian Nights called Alif Youm supposedly written by Jinns, a race of supernatural folks.  ‘The Hand’ believes that the book has secret codes which can help him to write world’s most sophisticated computer programme. So, he wants to possess that book at any cost. Now, Alif runs to save his life and the book.

When it seems that the ‘Hand’ will catch hold of Alif he escapes to the unseen world, the world of Jinns, with the help of a mysterious character called Vikram the Vampire. During this unbelievable and adventurous journey, Alif’s companions  are Dina, the burqa-clad  religious girl from his neighbourhood who secretly loves him, an American woman who is a convert to Islam, a kind hearted Imam and a prince and fellow hacker who helps Alif to escape from the state prison.

The plot sounds like an urban fantasy but it is not. Culturally insightful with political undertones, it is a literary novel which uses the elements of many genres of fiction (fantasy, techno-thriller, Science fiction, to name a few) to meditate on weighty issues such as identity, political freedom, democracy and the significance of religions in our life. Inspired by the Arab Spring in more generally and the Egyptian revolution in particular, the prose of this book is compentent, it is also ornamental and enchanting. The author writes with flair that shows her deep knowledge of Middle Eastern customs and Islamic theology. The characters are drawn with finesses making them not just engaging but also believable-- even supernatural characters like Marids, Effrits and Silas are believable as well as likeable.

Like Alif the Unseen, In Ramallah, Running, is also about a Middle Eastern city but unlike the fantastical city where Alif lives, Ramallah is a real city and the book is a work of non-fiction. It is a project of text and images about Ramallah, the city in the West Bank area of the Palestinian Territory which received widespread attention  during the negotiation of  the Oslo agreement between Israel and Palestine as a possible capital of  a future Palestinian state. The lead essay here is  by Guy Mannes-Abbott, the London based writer, critic and essayist who has co-edited this volume with Samar Martha, a freelance curator of art. The introduction , written by London based art critic Jean Fisher, encapsulates the essence of the book. Other collaborators include writers, poets and artists from Palestine, Europe and elsewhere who write or create images using various media to give an insight in to the state of affairs of this cramped city under  Israeli occupation.

On the page number seven of In Ramallah, Running, a photograph shows two shop signs. One reads Star and Bucks Café (Obviously, a version of the  American coffee chain Starbucks). Divided into four words, it depict the similarity of  Palestinian aspirations with that of other people across the globe. But also it shows how the collective marginalisation of the Palestinian populace by an occupying force and the seeming indifference of the international community are depriving them of even small pleasures.  The other sign (belonging to a grocery store) reads Lulustyle. It is , of course , an attempt by a clever shopkeeper to cash on the popularity of Lulu, the famous superstore chain which has branches in all major cities of the Middle East. Alas, the people of Ramallah have to make do with this impoverished and counterfeit version. The sign also hints at Palestinian yearnings, thwarted at every turn, to be part of the Middle East’s growth story.

The opening  essay is blended with reportarge.  Guy Mannes-Abbott  shares his experience of running in and around Ramallah. Anywhere else,  the act of running sounds like  an ordinary pastime  but in Ramallah—a city surrounded by the  walls, aggressive Israeli settlers, military checkposts and the constant fear of being harassed by Israeli forces— this innocuous  activity is a dangerous  act of defiance. If you decide to take a few detours during your running, you may end up with being shot.  The author relates  his observations while jogging around the city and his reflections on what he saw during those incursions portray a sensitive picture of life in the occupied territories.

            The essay ‘Ramallah Versus Ramallah’  offers   the young Palestinian poet and critic Najawan Darwish’s take  a city he has  been angred by ‘because of its status  as a symbol of an odious political period: the Oslo period.’  Here, he delineates the historical, political and cultural importance of this place.

In addition to these two outstanding essays which form a major part of the book, is also featured a beautifully written excerpt from a novel in progress by Adania Shibli. Plus, there are art contributions from seven European and Middle Eastern (Palestinian included) artists and each of them interpreting the city of Ramallah and the Palestinian story in their own way, making this book a praiseworthy effort to engage, often creatively, with  Palestine and its people. 
to read this article on Wasafiri website please click here

Chand Ash'aar Ghazlon ke

GHAZAL (1)
अपनी उल्फत को कोई भी नाम ना देना 

हाथ से छुकर इसे रिश्तों का इलज़ाम ना देना 

तेरे दर्द-ए-दिल का तोहफ़ा अभी भी मेरे पास

खुदा के वास्ते अब कोई नया इनाम ना देना 

उनकी आँखों के पिये का ख़ुमार अभी बाक़ी है 

साक़ी मुझे अब कोई भी जाम ना देना 

GHAZAL (2)

अपने दिल की किताब में तेरा नाम लिखूँगा 

सुबह-ओ-शाम लिखूँगा,  सरेआम लिखूँगा 

इस अफसाने का आगाज़ तुमने किया है  

इस कहानी का अब  मैं अन्ज़ाम लिखूँगा 

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My Review of THE LOWLAND

A Tale of Two Brothers

The Lowland

Jhumpa Lahiri, Random House India, 2013

INR 499

Set in Bengal and USA, the novel opens in the 1940s when the author tells us about two brothers, Subhash and Udayan. They are born just fifteen months apart and are more like twins. Growing up together, they develop a strong bond. Temperamentally, the brothers are poles apart. As an ideal son, Subhash, the elder one, decides to pursue higher studies and go to the US, in agreements with his parents’ wishes. Udayan, on the other hand, much to his parents’ dismay, joins the Naxalite movement. He marries a girl of his choice despite knowing that his parents will oppose it. In a tragic twist of events, the police kill Udayan and the lives of everybody associated with him change forever. Subhash returns to India, marries Gauri, his brother’s pregnant widow, and takes her to America where Gauri gives birth to a beautiful baby girl, Bela. Then, all of sudden, Gauri disappears from the lives of Subhash and Bela.

The first half of the novel does reasonably well. The topographical details of Tollygunj in Calcutta of the 40s, 50s and 70s invoke the imageries that transport you to the periods of time. The author beautifully describes the equation between the two brothers, and you immediately fall in love with them. In the beginning, Gauri garners the empathy of the readers when her husband is killed. But, later, when she moves to America marrying Subhash, her behaviour suddenly changes, leaving the reader a little perplexed. She finally loses sympathy of the readers when she decides to leave her husband and daughter Bela without any specific reason.

The moment the story moves from India to the US, things begin to take a turn for the reader, and not in a helpful way. Particularly troubling is Gauri’s character. The readers never get chance to know what ails Gauri. Her love for her dead husband is something that should bind her to Subhash because both of them loved Udayan equally. But, it doesn’t. Moreover, it appears highly implausible that a girl born and brought up in a middle class Bengali family will shed the baggage of Indian moral values so quickly and will accept the bohemian life style of the west.

The protagonist Subhash also doesn’t get a fair deal as his character is not rounded. His motivations behind marrying his brother’s widow are never properly explained. Bela, Gauri’s daughter, is another quirky character whose idiosyncrasies are inexplicable and we are left wondering why she doesn’t bond strongly with her father when her mother abandons her. There is an invisible but palpable distance between Bela and Subhash, one which perhaps could have been explored a little more.

The Maoist insurgency of 1960s and 1970s is the main backdrop of the story; however, we never hear anything directly about it from those who are involved in the revolution. What we get to know about Naxalism and its cruel suppression by the state are in the form of aftershocks the other characters of the novel feel in their lives. At times, we feel the author is holding back when she has an opportunity to tell the readers something more about the ultra-leftist revolution. In between, she makes sure to drop hints about the brutal side of the Naxal movement. The ugly face of communism is shown promptly to offset the positive images she creates by showing the youth associated with the movement as ‘idealists’. Maybe, this is deliberately done to take care of the ultra-capitalist sensibilities of her American readers. Anyway, the word ‘Commie’ (short form of the communists) is a derogatory word in the US and many American readers would die of shock if their favourite writer is seen sympathising with the ultra-communists.

  The literary landscape created by Jhumpa Lahiri in her latest offering called Lowland has several low lying areas submerged in clichés and  are also damp with the writings that don’t rise above the level of mediocrity. One expected the Booker shortlisted writer to deliver something stronger to match her reputation as a writer of a Pulitzer winning and stunningly good collection of short stories. Though she pulled it off in the first half of the book, the second half suffers from the malady of implausibility. The unrealistic characterisations also mar the later part of the novel, as we have to plough through pages heavy with unnecessary details and repetitive descriptions. The denouement, too, leaves the readers stranded in the wilderness of half-told stories.

EK NAI GHAZAL

कठिन तो है बहुत, मगर नहीं लगता

मुहब्बत का सफर, सफर नहीं लगता 

नहीं है  खौफ मुझे हवा के  तेज़ झोंकों का

बुझे चरागों को हवाओं से डर नहीं लगता 

सेहन, दरीचे और दर-ओ-दीवार वही लेकिन 

तेरे जाने बाद ये घर,  घर नहीं लगता 

ना लिखी जाती मेरी बर्बादियों की दास्तां 

ये दिल मेरा तुमसे अगर नहीं लगता 

अभी बाक़ी हैं रात की निशानियाँ बहुत अब्द 

स्याह उजालों वाला ये सहर, सहर नहीं लगता 

Ek Ghazal (Devnagri)

अपने सवालों का  जवाब मांगती है
ज़िन्दगी हर साँस का हिसाब मांगती है

होश में  रहना मुमकिन नहीं अब
इसलिए  साक़ी  से वो  शराब मांगती है

सेहरा से मांगती है वो बहार का वादा
और उजड़े चमन से गुलाब मांगती है

नींद तो मयस्सर नहीं हुआ इसे अब तक
मेरी बेदार ऑंखें अब एक ख्वाब मांगती हैं

मेरे पास तो चंद  टूटे सितारे  बचे  हैं 'अब्द'
लेकिन वो तो अक्सर माहताब  मानती है

Ek Ghazal (Urdu Version)

اپنے سوالوں کا جواب مانگتی ہے  

زندگی ہر سانس کا حساب مانگتی ہے  

ہوش میں رہنا ممکن نہیں اب

اس لئے ساقی سے وہ شراب مانگتی ہے

سہرا سے مانگتی ہے وہ بہار کا وعدہ

اور اجڑے چمن سے گلاب مانگتی ہے

نیند تو میسر نہیں ہوا اسے اب تک

میری بیدار آنکھیں اب ایک خواب مانگتی ہیں

میرے پاس تو چند ٹوٹے ستارے بچے ہیں 'عبد'

لیکن وہ تو اکثر  ماھتاب مانتی ہے

Ek Ghazal

मुझे  दिल लगाने कि बुरी आदत है

और उन्हें दिल जलाने  कि बुरी आदत है 

लबो पे तबस्सुम मतलब ख़ुशी है लेकिन 

मुझे दर्द में मुस्कुराने कि बुरी आदत है 

लुत्फ़ उठाता हूँ मैं इंतज़ार का बहुत

 और  उन्हें देर  करके  आने कि बुरी आदत है 

हम पे तंज़ हुए और फ़िक़रे भी कसे  गये 

इल्ज़ाम लगाना ज़माने की  बुरी आदत है 

इश्क़ में क्या काम अक़ल  वो दानाई का 

लेकिन उनको तो समझाने कि बुरी आदत है 

 फलक से चाँद सितारे भी तोड़  लाएंगे 

छोड़िए अब्द उनको बात बनाने कि बुरी आदत है 

A poem by well known freelance journalist and poet Satish Kumar Singh in NORTHEAST REVIEW

YATRA CHAKRA

Satish Singh

Translated from the Hindi by Abdullah Khan

Illustration: Avirup Ghosh

The Circle of Journeys

Whenever we move from a village to a city
Or from a city to a village
Everything changes
Air, soil, water
Whisperings of new wind
The fragrance of new flowers

We move to a new place again
But old memories remain stuck
To our consciousness
Their fragrance and flavour intact

The winter morning
The garden-fresh sun just out of its hidings
My train stops
On a unknown platform
But the name of the city is familiar to me
I could barely read – “Patna”
On a wall stained with red paan juices

I am amazed at the deepness of the city
As I walk around
To explore the city

When I see ‘Agamkuan’ I wonder
How emperor Ashoka
Might have killed his 99 brothers
A psychopath must have resided in his body
Bloody dreams must have infested his eyes
He must have been a heartless man
With a conscience devoid of
Empathy or compassion

In my dreams
I see the River Ganges
Shrouded in darkness
When I woke up
I find the river is on ventilators

The filth littering the streets
The vehicles clogging the roads
The concrete jungle
Women walking naked in the markets
The shattered mirrors of grace and honour
The demise of thoughtfulness

In this age of rapid transition
The cool breeze no more sings the ballads of spring season
The moon no more sprinkles its golden moonlight
Rivers, winds, trees and humans
Have been deprived of the life giving rays of the early morning sun

Mankind is not yet dead
But is breathing its last
I have an overwhelming impulse to cry loudly
But I manage to control my feelings
I fear I will be branded insane

Will the flutter of the wind
Give melody to its melody-less whisperings
Will the courtyard of my house
Be fragrant with sweet memories of the past
When I set out on a new journey?

***

Satish Singh is a Patna based poet and freelance journalist. An alumnus of Indian Institute of Mass Communication, New Delhi, he writes for leading Hindi dailies like Jansatta, Navbharat Times, Hindustan, Dainik Bhaskar, Dainik Jagran, etc. He has also published one poetry collection.

Avirup Ghosh is a PhD student at Jadavpur University. His research interests include visual arts, storytelling and ethics of representation.