The Dynamics of the Sharif Muslim household

*to make up for CP

The short story ‘Ehsaan Mazil’ overtly traces the historical trajectory of a sharif Muslim family.  However a closer reading gives us insight into the gender dynamics in a sharif muslim household.

Firstly, marriage has supreme importance in the sharif existence, particularly for the female. This can be seen from the fact that the elder daughter, sister of Sheikh Irfan, who passed away was considered lucky; not because of her death but simply because she did not get married.

Secondly, the organization of power is such that he male by virtue of their superior position become the main agents for powerful differentiation. Whereas the females have a limited affiliation; they group up in one household, get married and then die. The only have power within their domestic sphere and are responsible for the upbringing and education of other females

Thirdly, the nature of rebellion that men and women engage in also varies. Men do it overtly, for example the son of Sheikh Sajad, Aijaz openly claimed to be an atheist. While females do in hiding; the controversial novel for instance was found hidden under the mattress of Hamidah Bibi. Perhaps this difference exists because they are allowed more freedom and there is stark variation in the consequences for inappropriate behavior. The difference in the intensity of the consequences becomes apparent when you notice that for the Aijaz, the punishment was withdrawal from studies after completion of his entrance exam but for the Hamidah it was marriage.

The faceless Hindu in Garam Hava

*to make up for my non-existent CP

For me three scenes in the movie Garam Hava stand out in which the director employs a very distinct cinematic approach. These include: the scene where Salim Mirza speaks to the banker about the status of his loan, when he approaches several landowners and inquires about renting the place and lastly when his son, Sikander is interviewing for a job but is rejected last minute when the vacancy is filled.  These scenes have a singular theme, in each of them the character directly talks into the camera but the visual appearance of the other person (Hindu) is not revealed. This depiction of the Indian Hindu as faceless I believe is intentional because it symbolizes an unknown threat to the security of the Indian Muslim in terms of job, property and livelihood.  

Saughandi in Naiza Khan's art work

*missed blog

Armour suit for Rani of Jhansi, 2008 Galvanised steel, feathers and leather 90 45 35 cm/ 35⅜ 17¾ 13¾in

Edition of 3 works

Feminized suits of armour appear as a current theme in Naiza Khan’s paintings. The following is a galvanized armour suit for Rani of Jhansi from the exhibition “The Skin She Wears”. This picture for me captures the essence of the character of Saughandi, the female prostitute in Hatak. This picture has several layers of complexity each adding a new meaning to piece which can be deciphered in relation to different contexts. I will interpret this image in relation to Saughandi. The stark juxtaposition of steel with feathers is telling. The use of steel as the material for the armour is noteworthy because it  at once symbolizes both strength and subjection; strength because of the material itself and subjection because of the confining nature of the garment. For Saughandi to be able to assume her role as a prostitute in the brothel the garment not only functions as a protective camouflage but also signals a shift in her role from a woman to a prostitute. Moreover, the pairing of soft feathers alongside steel captures her unbidden feminine desire to be loved as an equal and to be cared for by the men in her life.  At another level, if viewed in relation to a brothel, the portrait perhaps seems to suggest the ambiguous and problematic place of such conflicting desires in society.  

Blood, brothers

Thought I should share. This came in today's DAWN Images.
http://m.dawn.com/news/1061274/foreign-front-blood-brothers

The Partition was much like a horror film: when Sir Cyril Radcliff hacked India and Pakistan into existence, blood hung in a mist over the countryside. And life was elsewhere.
“I was least affected by the Partition,” recalls film-maker MS Sathyu. “I was a student in Mysore in South India, living far away from the bloodshed that followed. Only years later, while living in Mumbai, after I met people who were forced to leave their homes, did I become aware that it was nothing short of a holocaust.”
That consciousness inspired Sathyu’s directorial debut, Garam Hawa (Scorching Winds), widely regarded as among the best films on the Partition. Based on an unpublished short story by Ismat Chughtai, and adapted for the screen by late poet Kaifi Azmi and scriptwriter Shama Zaidi, it was the first Hindi film to be made on the subject, nearly three decades after the division.
“A lot of film-makers and film financiers came from Punjab and the Sindh, and they had experienced the trauma firsthand. They just did not want to remind themselves of what they had suffered,” says Sathyu.
Now, over four decades after it was released in 1973, a digitally enhanced version is set to make a comeback in theatres across India. Although the Partition as a topic is now largely confined to school textbooks, Sathyu, 83, believes it continues to “hold historical and emotional value, especially for audiences born after India’s independence.”
Set in Agra in the months following the formation of India and Pakistan, Garam Hawa tells the story of a shoe manufacturer Salim Mirza and his family. Despite prejudice and economic pressure, Mirza chooses to stay on in India, even though close friends and relatives shift to Pakistan. It’s a decision that gradually tears his family apart. His daughter Amina’s childhood sweetheart migrates to Pakistan.
Mirza’s business suffers because lenders are hesitant to advance money to Muslim traders who may leave without repaying debts. The family loses its ancestral home. Amina commits suicide after another suitor too goes away to Pakistan. A heartbroken Mirza, left behind with his wife and son, is filled with doubt and contemplates migration.
Mirza’s optimist son Sikander, however, refuses to leave his homeland, preferring to soldier on. The film ends on a heart-wrenching note of hope, as Mirza follows his son into a morcha, with narrator Kaifi Azmi’s words ringing deep in the background, “Jo door se toofan ka karte hain nazaara, unke liye toofan vahaan bhi hai, yahan bhi. Dhaare mein jo mil jaaoge, ban jaaoge dhara, Ye vaqt ka elaan vahan bhi hai, yahan bhi.” (Who sees the storm coming from afar knows that what is there will soon be here ...
Who mingles with the streams knows this is the cry of the time, both there and here …)
In Sikander’s persona, the scriptwriters represented the voice of the young Indian Muslim. “What the film is trying to show is how people become victims of events they cannot control,” says Farooque Shakh, who was 23 when he played the part of Sikander. “The main character is completely apolitical. He is a decent, upright man trying to live a regular life, but that does not stop circumstances from pulling him down.”
Few films have had the enduring impact of Garam Hawa, which focuses not on the bloodshed, but the violence the Muslim community experienced from within. The sense of alienation and despair felt by a people desperate to hold on to a disappearing world is communicated through real-life experiences which the scriptwriters added to the original story. The scene where Mirza’s old mother hides in the kitchen and refuses to leave their ancestral home is based on an incident from the life of Shaukat Azmi, who plays Salim Mirza’s wife.
Garam Hawa is a standout film not only for daring to take up a sensitive period in Indian history. It was also the first Hindi film to look at the Muslim community in a nuanced manner. Prior to this were the so-called ‘classic’ Muslim socials of the ’50s and ’60s; popular, but their elaborate shayari and courtly sets had little connect with the lives led by ordinary Indian Muslims. The myopic portrayals continued into the ’70s and ’80s, where stock characters like the tawaif with the heart of gold, and the hero’s best friend were almost always Muslims.
“Invariably in Indian cinema, minority communities are depicted as caricatures and typeset. They are used as comic relief. This is not just for Muslims, but even for Christians, Parsis or Marwaris. They are shown as underworld dons or bootleggers and the portrayals are often crude,” says Sathyu.
“It’s not just about minorities,” adds veteran scriptwriter Javed Akhtar. “In recent years Hindi cinema has shied away from any social issue. We have created a new middle class which just wants to party. With the affluence that came in the ’90s, the urban middle class in India has become inward-looking and insular. They are not interested in seeing things that are not their problem, so middle-class or working-class issues have gone out of the frame.”
So will Garam Hawa touch a chord with this contemporary audience, the post-Partition generation, many of whom have little connection with or interest in events long past?
“When there is a film with human emotions, it will always have a resonance,” believes Shaikh. These problems exist throughout the world. So stories of this kind are pertinent wherever and whenever they are shown.”
The themes Garam Hawa touches on — alienation, exclusion, feeling isolated in one’s own home — have perhaps never been more relevant in India than today, where Muslims have complained of facing discrimination when it comes to renting or buying houses.
And it’s not just Muslims who are targeted. Housing segregation is now an open practice with advertisements freely proclaiming properties open for purchase only to Brahmins, non-Muslims or vegetarians. The practice, while legal, has contributed to a growing ghettoisation and alienation.
“Growing up I never faced any discrimination, even though my father was a Pathan and my mother a Hindu,” says Mumbai-based Anusha Khan. Khan, who is married to a Hindu, says things are different today. “My daughter keeps my last name as her middle name and she is questioned about it all the time by her friends. When I was growing up, my father wrote ‘Humanist’ in the religion column in school forms, and it was accepted. I do that as well, but I am always asked what that means and why. I feel the world was a more accepting place then. There are many more walls today.”
“Today we are vocal about our intolerance,” adds her husband, film director Victor Acharya. “Bigotry existed earlier too, but it was voiced behind closed doors. We cannot deny that it is intimidating to live in India today and be part of a faith that is globally perceived as not being safe. I am not sure things have changed much since Garam Hawa.”
“I have a Muslim colleague who goes to the mosque every Friday and observes roza; much like some Hindus fasting every Tuesday. But he is perceived differently. Today Garam Hawa would probably be about people like him. They are as well-entrenched as anyone else but come up against a few barriers,” says Acharya.
Adds Akhtar, “The film is still relevant and I don’t say this happily, because the whole problem should have been a part of history by now.”
Religion and geography gang up to ensure history still hits the headlines. But perhaps one day, thanks to films like Garam Hawa, we will let bygones be bygones.

Contradictory ideas

The amount of doublethink going on by in Bol is disconcerting and this aspect of the movie wasn't talked about much in class. The characters' ability to hold contradictory ideas is probably a reflection of the contradictory nature of the people of the society the film attempts to mirror. Aba jan threatens to kill his daughter(for the millionth time) if she dares to marry her shiite neighbor yet has no qualms about marrying a prostitute who admits to being a non-believer for the sake of money. Aba jan also refuses to go teach the children at a prostitute's house because he believes it is a house not fit to step in but when he falls upon hard times, he feels no guilt in prostituting himself for money.

The fact that the person holding these contradictory ideas is Aba jan, a religious male, tells us a lot about the filmmakers' views about the role of Islam in our society and how it has been used to manipulate the general populace this way and that without the people being able to think critically about what it is they're being told to follow.

Out of the different art forms we saw in class the one that stood out for me was the work by Huma Mulji. Her work is simple, in that it only employs two dolls, but by placing it in different settings it becomes telling of much more. By involving by standers in the final photographs her work denotes the place that the show of affection has in our society, where publicly it is both something that is uncomfortable and a source of wonder. What makes it all the more interesting is the use of play things, dolls which are innocent as they are used for child play. By undressing them and setting them up in sexual positions she upsets these connotations making the viewer all the more uncomfortable.
After class I took a look at some of the other photos she has taken and found this image, titled Full Mood Mein, particularly captivating.

Here is a combination of the gaze in which such activity finds it self caught in, and further surrounded by the religious pressures as denoted by the word "Allah" written inside the rickshaw. 

Nitpicking

*missed blog post

Mahira Khan's and Atif Aslam's characters in Shoaib Mansoor's Bol croon "Hona tha pyaar, hua meray yaar." For me the sentiment is unsettling not just because of the corny romantic allusions but also because the song implies that the love the two characters share was predestined, aligning it with the phrase that Hakim Sahib uses perpetually "khuda ki marzi". For me this is problematic because the little agency that Mahira's character shows is in her defiance of her religious restriction by falling in love with Mustafa, but the song implies that even this was not a choice for her and rather in line with her beliefs because it was a product of divine will. 

Aashiana

This painting by Salman Toor weaves a picture of a smiling mother and her two daughters sharing the joys of reading. The mother’s adoring eyes are set on her daughters, one of whom seem to be tracing a line on the page open before them. Their world is fairy-tale like, as the artist depicts through his choice of colors and imagery: the house is decorated with candy canes and bunties, the trees are painted in red and yellow. Whatever they are reading seems to be of less concern to them than their own little intimacies. I think this painting highlights the fact that these people are disconnected with their immediate environment. Reading is meant for learning, for knowing, but does this family know, or can it relate with, the people vying for their attention right next to the book on the table? Those who look, dress, and talk differently and who belong to the lower social classes? These ordinary looking people are sitting and standing right in front of the mother and her children, but this small family does not seem to have noticed them.   

On re-reading Said

Re-reading Edward Said's "Secular Criticism" for class today, what struck me the most was what he said about Auerbach, who wrote a book about Western literature "Mimesis" with limited resources and in Istanbul experiencing exile. This secular perspective enabled him to write and this writing was even more important because "the possibility of not writing and thus falling victim to the concrete dangers of exile: the loss of texts, traditions, continuities that make up the very web of a culture" was great.
I know this is off-topic but it reminded me of prison literature. Prisoners are especially important exilic figures as they are literally isolated from society and hence culture, yet exceptional pieces of art from prisoners have come in the form of writing and not, say, painting, and I had been wondering why. This importance on writing that Said stresses on made a lot of sense to me, especially considering the secular perspective that so permeates such works of literature and enhances them.

The Secular Position?

First of all, extremely sorry for posting so late.


At the end of the course now, Said's exposition on secularism has become a lot clearer. A secular figure is someone who occupies space outside the dominant culture but his or her identity is still defined by this culture. Through a process of exile, marginalization, heretical ideas or any expression that does not conform to the dominant narrative causes that person to reside outside this space. As a consequence, that person is now capable of critiquing the dominant narrative while still being a part of it. Conversely, there could be people who conform to the dominant narrative and in the process they exclude other classes and identities which becomes problematic (referring to our class on Dil Dil Pakistan and Main to Dekhun Ga).

Keeping all of this in mind, it becomes apparent that there are at the end only two distinct, polarized positions that one can occupy and my question is that could there exist other identities or modes of criticism?

The shareef Muslim as the exilic figure

 Over the course of the semester we have read about and seen many Mullahs or what we can categorize as the ‘pious religious character’. The movies, stories and videos all depict a different character of a mullah, yet at the same time they all are very similar at the core. I think it is an attempt to show how such people have tried to adopt a staunch Muslim identity by making Islam such a rigid structure but how it becomes the reason for their own exile in an Islamic state. Examples of the very controversial story of the Mullah in Jannat ki basharat who sees erotic dreams after rejecting his wife because he has to worship on “Shab-e qadr”, to Hakeem sahib in Bol and his very strict views, resistance to modern technology including the television, and his blind faith in God that ‘rizq denay wala tou allah hi hai”, The author and the directors are criticizing a certain kind of mind set. The view that only people who pray, keep a beard, wear a shalwar kameez with a topi on their head are truly Muslims.

Along with this they criticize how these people are using God as an excuse for their idleness. They believe that since everything has been set from before and everything works from God’ will,  and so since  they can’t change anything, they need not try. Saleem mirza’s character in Garam Hava is an example of such a stagnant character because he believes that God will take care of everything and that “chaar din mein sab theek hojaega”.

Even Shehzad Roy criticizes such people in his song Laga reh:

SR: Yaar, mulk mein bari tension ho gayi hai.

Buzurg: Koi nahi, koi nahi, sub kuchh Allah pay chor dou.

The Maulana’s very 'shameful' dream demonstrating an obvious lack of pious perfection on his part, Hakeem Sahab’s fall to a male prostitute and his loneliness, and Saleem Mirza’s economic and social downfall all show how these figures are disadvantaged and exilic because of the rigidity of their own beliefs.

In opposition to these Allah walays, Shehzad Roy offers a very stark opposing belief to who is a virtuous and pious person

 “Naik woh hai jis ko mauqa nahi mila”

Drag Portraits: Subverting and Relocating the National

Drag Portraits: Subverting and Relocating the National

   During class, we were shown Salman Toor's portrait of Jinnah laughing behind a veil that covered most of his face. A quick Google search brought me to this gem of a painting - a portrait of Jinnah in drag. The figure whom we have seen countless times in official portraits - always serious, formal and sophisticated - dons a feminine wig and a seductive hand gesture. 

Untitled by Salman Toor

Equating political leaders with drag attire, as well as homosexuality is nothing new. In fact, the very point I will make in this blog post is that drag portraits can be seen as the artist's attempt to subvert the supposedly 'sacred' realm of the nation and nationalist sentiment. Mocking the national is nothing new - indeed throughout this course we've looked at music videos, movies and text - but this attempt is worth serious contemplation because it relies solely on a visual resistance. Growing up in Pakistan, the State inundates us with a series of images:  the Jinnah we see in our education system and media is visually uniform. He is poised and serious, either in a sherwani or a Western-styled suit. Moreover, his posture and props show masculine power  - either sitting cross legged on a chair with an air of determination, posing with his dogs or playing pool with a cigar in his mouth. This is the image of Jinnah that is instilled in our national and mental imagination, and it is this very perception that is almost violently attacked when we see the above portrait. The 'Father of the Nation', a figure having acquired almost mythical standing, is reduced to what is popularly considered one of the lowest groups of our society. In the Saidian sense, it is quite literally taking an image widely considered to be part of the 'national' and re-locating it within the realm of the 'secular'. Ofcourse, there is also a process of emasculation going on - the 'Father of the Nation' is deprived of his masculinity and hence his role as the 'father' is questioned.

This process of subverting political power by emasculating it is also seen in this iconic portrait of LBJ and Chairman Mao.

Drag - Johnson and Mao by Jim Dine, 1967

Class in 'Awaam'

The ironic implication of ‘Awaam’ is the detachment of its content from the masses despite of its title being ‘awaam’ itself. The Awaam referred in the song revolves around the Honda ke laundey, mospel aur offsparay ke khaali container and the cool it innuendos. It’s focusing on a particular class in society and not addressing to the common masses. The irresponsibility of media comes in to play when there is a talk show segment in between the song. The host addresses the following issues “Aaam admi ko roti nai naseeb hoti, bijli ka buhran hai, mehangai barti ja rahi hai aur akhir ye drone hamle ho kis ki ijazzat se rahe hain” and then suddenly diverts topic to “ap main se behtar dancer kon hai?” which shows precisely how contemporary media is behaving. Towards the end of the song, the rap turns to “Awaam ke liye paighaam hai Larai choro, parhai kero, safai kero, judaai na kero” which is explicitly simplistic but if you hear with a little extra consideration it is in fact deeply ironic. The simplicity of the message is telling the awaam something so understood and known which doesn’t need to be told. It is in a way degrading the awaam as if they always need to be told everything and have no sensibilities of their own. 

Huma Mulji

A closer look at this picture reveals interesting aspects about Pakistani society. Note that in the picture the setting is some outside place might be a resting place on the road and there are only men in the background no sign of any woman. This picture represents the everyday life on a ordinary rest house in Pakistan which is dominated by men. Same is the case with every other area of life in Pakistani society where inclusion of women is considered a taboo. The boy and girl made of plastic placed on the Charpoy criticizes or sort of mock this reality.

The shift of the sub-altern

We have travelled a century through this class. We have covered Manto's depiction of the self-conscious prostitute who strives to be a part of the domestic, read Intizaar Hussain's idyllic Basti, discovered the rare feminist novel within Godavari and finally arrived upon the contemporary scene with Aalu Anday and various artists. All these works attempt to depict the sub-altern-- the secular figure who attempts to penetrate the invisible bubble of frozen thought or prejudice that shrouds society, dampening it's road to progress. 

From the 20th to the 21st century, we have seen a shift in the sub-altern. From figures who view the world from afar, now it is society itself that becomes the secular figure. 

Manto's prostitutes desired domesticity. Intizaar Husseins's Zaakir wanders around to find some fulfilment for homelessness. Maa from Godavari desperately desires some amount of usefulness and love. These are all figures who are disparate-- rejected from society either by choice or by profession. In the 21st century, the Beyghairat Brigade, Shahzad Roy's "Laga Re", Ali Azmat's "Bum Phata" and Saba Khan's paintings all depict society as being removed from itself. Failure in politics, acts of terrorism combined with general "dont-care" attitudes towards studying and attention to excessive socializing are all indicators of the general populace adopting the role of the subaltern and being thoroughly secular by removing itself from all that is going wrong.  Shahzad Roy especially highlights this aspect in Laga Re:

Buzurgon nay mujhsay poochha mulk kaisay yeh chalega?
Buzurgon ko main yeh bola lagay raho, lagay raho
Buzurgon nay mujhsay poochha mulk kaisay yeh chalega?
Buzurgon ko main yeh bola

Mujhay fikr yeh nahi kay yeh mulk kaisay chalega. Mujhe fikr yeh hai kay kaheen aisay hee na chalta rahay.

These songs are not preachy; they do not tell the people of Pakistan to take a certain route but just highlight that we are in a self-imposed exile and choose to be secular and removed from what's happening to the country. This is a far cry from Manto's Saughandi, Sultana and Bismillah who were secular in such a different way. Perhaps this is what we can conclude from class-- that the secular doesn't necessarily have to be a prostitute or a single person it can be an entire society within itself. 

Bismillah - The most homeless.

Amidst the post-partition questions of resolving identity and national consolidation, there is Bismillah – a misplaced figure that appears to be belonging to the national discourse. However, she’s the most secular/homeless figure we've studied throughout the course.

Firstly, and quite simply, she’s homeless because she’s supposed to be in India, which is the actual home for all Hindus. As we've seen, for instance in Garam Hawa, the Sharif Muslim family feels deprived of the right social experience and constricted in terms of economic opportunity in India. Being a Hindu in Pakistan, Bismillah is under the same isolation because she was not able to successfully migrate to India and got left behind. And while she may not be expressing this dissatisfaction with life, one can notice it in her behavior.  Her “Udaas ankhien” and “khamoshi” throughout the story speak volumes of how lonely and displaced she feels.

Secondly, her homelessness is further complicated because on the surface she seems to be perfectly assimilated in the national discourse. That’s because her identity has been falsified for her. She’s made to be a Muslim (named Bismillah; how convenient), wifed by someone, and is even assigned an acting profession. But essentially she’s a Hindu prostitute stuck in Pakistan.

Said says that culture is “used to designate not merely something to which one belongs but something that one possesses.”

Clearly Bismillah does not belong in Pakistan. She’s a Hindu and does not have a true home or family here. But the important point is that she does “seem” to possess the features of being a Pakistani. This culture appropriation is forced upon her. She’s faking or putting up an act of perfectly belonging to an outside culture (something that a lot of us witness left and right, but). The only other character that comes close to this is Meena of Bol but her act of being a traditional courtesan seems more of a fascination to make up for certain insufficiency in her life. Bismillah is acting for survival.

Jawab jin ka nhi wo sawal hote hain

The Last Blog...

We can see that in 66 years Pakistan has evolved from being a peaceful place for all to a chaotic land with inequality and class differences. Few years after the partition we see works like “Sohni Dharti” and “Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan” and after 60+ years of partition we see works like “Allu Anday”, “Bumb Phatta” and “Awam” describing the Pakistani narrative. The change our nation has seen is drastic. From energetic collectivist songs, which were trying to bring every person of this nation together by the repetitive use of word “HUM” (us) and “HUMARA” (ours):

-Sohni dharti

TERA HAR AIK ZARAA HUM KO APNI JAAN SEY PYAARA
TERAI DUM SEY SHAAN HUMARI
TUJ SEY NAAM HUMARA
JAB TAK HAI YEH DUNIA BAKI HUM DEKAIN AZAAD
HUM DEKAIN AZAAD TUJAI

-Jeevay Jeevay Pakisan

aik rakhein gay, aik rahay ga 
aik hai naam hamara hoo 
aik hai naam hamara ho hoo pakistan pakistan 
pakistan pakistan, jeevay pakistan

We are now introduced with music videos such as “Awam” which are explicitly differentiating the people of this nation. Formation of class boundaries are being reaffirmed through such works. The “hum” concept has been transformed into “meh aur tum”. Classes have formed and a huge gap exists.

Upper class v.s lower class: Lower class’ inability to educate themselves is further being looked down upon by the upper class. The terms being used to describe lower class show their exilic characteristic and inability to fit in the society.  All they deserve is “safai kero” and without insults they don’t comprehend.

-Awam (Faris Sha)

aray bhool gayay hain salay

majboori k maray

kabhi school nai gayay loray?

Galiyoon k baghairr yeh jahalia nai suntay

In conclusion, “Pakistan ko lag gayay, lassan k tarkay”(Awam).

-goodbye http://thesecularposition.blogspot.com/

Dogmatism of middle class

Throughout the course, there are some really interesting patterns of behaviors that come associated with different set of classes in the society. We can segregate, for the sake of simplifying, the elite from the middle class. 

Often the elite is targeted as dictators of the interests of other segments of the society.  However, the different genre’s we analysed show the role of middle class in a very different light.Though the elite is targeted by the middle class for the misuse of their power, but the same is true for the middle class as well. 

In ‘Main to dekhun ga’ by Strings, we encounter this situation where people belonging to urban section of the society are acting as guides for the betterment of people belonging to rural areas. The critique here revolves around the elite. In ‘Hatak’ as well, the class acts as an important factor in the making of an exilic figure. In ‘Bol’, there is also an idea of superiority of middle class. This issue is highlighted in Basti as well through Zakir's family. 

I found this pattern particularly interesting because many people belonging to the middle class do not consider this an issue. The people belonging to the lower segment are considered ‘jaahil’,and morally corrupt. The point of moral corruption is also held up against the upper classes. In this layering of classes, as we move upward, there is an effort for the formation of a dominant moral code that envelopes other classes.The failure to live up to the standards then results into exclusion. Hence, in the end, the middle class pretty much submerges in the elite in their dogmatism but tries to maintain itself as a distinct entity for its own satisfaction, maybe.

Selling Crows

Saba Khan is bold with colours and that is probably one of the reasons that we enjoyed her images the most. From "Good Times" where women we usually encounter in social pages of magazines barely seem to retain their feminine beauty but remind us much of transgenders we encountered in Bol, to the stark green parrots with bright red noses that are sitting in front of the Quran, her choice of colour is what makes her paintings appeal to the viewer immediately. On digging more into Saba Khan I found another painting that I would like to share.

Here too Saba Khan is bold. The painting above is called "Selling Crows"and reflects the condition of a working class person from our society. The upward direction of the cycle shows the desire of all people to move up the social class. This safaid posh man is one such member of society but is forced to do hard work evident through the colour of his dark hands. Yet even in his climb up the social ladder, there is a problem portrayed in the picture through the front tyre being stuck in what can be assumed as mud or dirt.

When we think of birds that people would want to buy as pets, we never think of crows. These creatures are always seen with contempt, straying around to find any food and definitely with a voice that is unpleasant for all listeners. Yet this man has chosen to sell crows of all other birds probably because he has no other viable profession left or because all the sweet singing birds are already in cages in elite households. Selling crows is therefore a disrespectful profession and it almost seems that the face of the man was intentionally cut off from the painting, a way for the man to hide his shame. The crows sitting at the back of his cage are not painted as black but trapped in a white cage; it is almost as if decolourizing them reduces the humiliation associated with selling them in the market.

 

The Secular Position

“It is therefore, a source of great virtue for the practiced mind to learn, bit by bit, first to change about in visible and transitory things, so that afterwards it may be able to leave them behind altogether. The person who finds his homeland sweet is a tender beginner; he to whom every soil is as his native one is already strong; but he is perfect to whom the entire world is as a foreign place. The tender soul has fixed his love on one spot in the world; the strong person has extended his love to all places; the perfect man has extinguished his”

–Hugo of St. Victor’s Didascalicon

Borrowing Hugo’s ideas of what it means to belong, and what strength becomes of an individual when a certain kind of association with a land is persisted –I feel like all of the Urdu literature we have read in this course somehow now aligns itself to the exilic ideas of Hugo.

Starting from the basic ideas of homelessness and dis/ (un)belonging, we can finally define what exilic means and who an exilic figure is. Sogandhi in Manto’s Hatak was perhaps an exilic figure to not only the offside of the brothel and her room but she was largely homeless outside her general space that consists of technology and a different class of people so that she eventually sees rejection. In Manto’s work, the prostitutes like Sultana and Sogandhi become outsiders when the space or location around them changes and an interaction with men, which otherwise should be fitting to their lives and their profession, is disengaging. By the latter I mean, the thorough assumed superiority men have adopted in this kind of discourse. What then does it mean to be homeless and secular? If men form the dominant national, and the superior ‘dominant’ national, does it leave women to become secular and weak? Does it make all kinds of women secular? I believe that this assumed power of the masculine in Urdu discourse, which of course is a pick off the culture of the subcontinent and perhaps more precisely, the Muslim man, secludes the woman enough to make her both a critic and a victim. Also, not all kinds of women become secular to the males. In Manto’s stories, the brothel men are embracing and effectuating some kind of peaceful, lucrative and caring existence for the prostitutes such as Ram Lal and Madho. Similarly, Veena Malik may be looked at from the same perspective. She is secular to religious, dogmatic , state aligned pockets of people in Pakistan, which is interestingly her won country. It is then difficult to separate religion and national because then her arguments in her defense also attack both. A religious man, a male TV anchor and a female artist were only apparently propagating debate that a woman’s izzat and state identity are synonymous. The ideas of synonymy of the woman with the state comes usually when the state tries to adopt in some way a sort of  protectionist, religious identity; at times, using the woman as both a propagator or as a reformist icon. Refer here to the music videos such as Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan and Sohni Dharti that promote the state narrative as well as pictures of small student girls in the national anthem video where the educated young girl is a sign of a state that’s trying to progress. Notice again, the Strings song ‘Main Tou Dekhoonga’ where the first entrant to their musical classroom is a girl and all other girls who also later become part of it are wearing their duppatas. This kind of portrayal of women across literary texts and videos goes to show how then the secular figures are being introduced into the national narrative to legitimize their narrative altogether as one which is wholesome.

Furthermore, the idea of izzat itself, originating from the sharif household, is problematic as then it imposes it as a virtue of the woman only. This association is not entirely fair to the freedom of women altogether and far worse, it relieves the masculine of any responsibility as far as the promotion and definition of  a certain identity goes. Ranging from Sabira in Intezar Hussain’s Basti who was criticized for the choices she made to the mother in Fehmida Riaz’s Godavari where a mere acceptance of her husband’s attitude leaves her displaced in her house. From the characters of Amina and Dadi, we debate if death is reserved for women only especially if it’s the byproduct of action/inaction on a man’s part. Then the homeless, exilic figure of the woman, as given by Garam Hawa, is the old widow or an unmarried Muslim woman who are secular to the choices of men.

However, figures such as Abba Jee in Basti and Saleem Mirza in Garam Hawa are largely homeless on the grounds that they chose a severe affinity with the land that they lived in. This goes back to the Hugo definition, where they then become perfect for considering anything beyond their homeland, foreign. Abba Jee found Roopnagar idyllic and was unable to both understand and collaborate in Pakistan while Saleem Mirza living India was secular to the national itself. It’d be safe to say that Saleem Mirza was largely secular in the Indian society; first, by default of being a Muslim, and then by virtue of not making a decision to move to Pakistan. In their perfection to not situate themselves mentally and physically to the place of their living they are imperfect in the society. Consequently they become secular. Intezar Hussain’s story Shehr e Afsos, aptly explains this idea of the exclusionary nature of land that even then nullifies our much believed version of ‘dharti’ and the nurturing, embracing homeland. In its entirety then, the land not only constitutes of the society but also makes up the culture which becomes the national that excludes minorities like Saleem Mirza, Abba Jee, Veena Malik, Sogandhi, Amina and Ma.

“Yeh sun kar hansi meri jati rahi aur main ney afsos kia aur kaha: ‘Ay buzurg! Kia tu ney dekha key jo log apni zameen se bichar jatey hain, phir koi zameen un ko qubool nahi karti?’

‘Main ney dekha aur yeh jana, key har zameen zalim hai’

‘Woh jo janam deti hai who bhi?’

‘Haan! Jo zameen janam deti hai woh bhi aur jo zameen dar ul amaan banti hai who bhi… aur har zameen zalim hai’ ”

Mirror Symbolism in Ali Azmat’s song Bam Phatta

I find the mirror imagery extremely interesting in Ali Azmat’s musical video entitled Bum Phatta. The video attempts to criticize the prevalent dominant attitude of the political establishment in Pakistan towards its people.  It accomplishes this by placing a group of seven men in different controller rooms and 2 individuals separately confined within funhouse mirror spaces. The men represent corrupt rulers or politicians and the two individuals represent the people of the state.

In this setting the mirror imagery deserves close scrutiny because it leads to a variety interpretations.  The purpose of mirror as an object is to reflect what it sees but in this video it is employed in an entirely different sense.

• Mirrors verbalize a kind of violence that persists over generations. As the story line of the song unfolds a transition is taking place, the children in the confined spaces transform into older men. This enforces the idea that this coercive relationship between the rulers and the ruled is stagnant and persists across generations.
• The awaam (represented by the two individuals) is wholly reliant on the whims of the political establishment. Throughout the song the men in the control rooms dangle various essential items such as roti, boti, book, a doll, a light bulb, a television screen and finally a sack of flour labeled mufta ata in front of the captives and as soon as they reach for these items they are pulled away.
•  The tainted mirrors suggest a disturbing form of political indoctrination. The mirrors are visibly tainted by blood in the video, possibly by the same controllers in the video. So in reality what these people see is a distorted reality. The problem here lies in the fact that within these mirror spaces the individuals are forced to see themselves through the distorted lens as wholly dependent and reliant on the whims and the desires of the ruling establishment.  In some sense it alludes to a kind of political indoctrination that is taking place over the generations. The dangling of a red book stamped with the flag of Pakistan and smeared with blood on its pages also confirms this interpretation. The education in Pakistan government schools is state approved and is skewed in favour of the establishment (shown by blood on the inner pages).
• The mirror imagery is also deeply imbedded in self reflection. Enslavement using confined tainted mirror spaces in some sense then also hints at our impaired ability of self-reflection. The use of mirrors as the source of subjection is telling because it suggests that the individuals and by extension the awaam is in some sense part responsible for its current predicament and oppression and in part due to the corrupt controllers of the state. This is confirmed by the ending scene where once the two captives are released they instead of thinking attack each other over the ‘muft ata’ instead of the controllers who are responsible for their condition.

In light of these various interpretations, the overall message of the video and the song seems to be that as long as this ability to self reflect is compromised the only life in store for them as the awam is that voiced by the song:

“Here life is as fragile as a kite on a thread

Here is neither oil, nor sugar nor flour

A life that is wholly dependent on the whims of the controllers of the state and devoid of the basic necessities of life.