Dreaming in Gujarati

A few weeks ago I came across a poem by the Kenyan Gujarati poet, Shailja Patel, and it got me thinking about why we Gujaratis have a natural and unforgivable tendency to deviate from our mother language.  A product of the East African diaspora living in London, it is made abundantly clear to me at countless occasions that among my generation of young professional Gujaratis, speaking in the mother tongue is "not cool", simply too "desi" and dare I say it - akin to being "fresh off the boat".  Conversely, my love for Gujarati and the consequent arrogance that stems from that love has so far led me to think of myself being above those who think like that.  You see, I've always thought that, in fact, those of my generation who think that speaking in Gujarati is "not cool" are themselves "uncool", "wayward" and simply "not worth it".  But reading Shailja Patel's poem (credit goes to my better half, Mehwaesh, for introducing me to it!) made me review those thoughts and re-assess my position.  Was there an intrinsic reason why others shunned Gujarati? Were they trying to rebel against something from their childhood? Did others associate harsh domestic memories with Gujarati? Did the language invoke sentiments best left forgotten?

Shailja Patel's "Dreaming in Gujarati":

The children in my dreams
speak in Gujarati
turn their trusting faces to the sun
say to me
care for us nurture us
in my dreams I shudder and I run.

I am six
in a playground of white children
Darkie, sing us an Indian song!
Eight
in a roomful of elders
all mock my broken Gujarati
English girl!

Twelve, I tunnel into books
forge an armor of English words.
Eighteen, shaved head
combat boots -
shamed by masis
in white saris
neon judgments
singe my western head.
Mother tongue.
Matrubhasha
tongue of the mother
I murder in myself.

Through the years I watch Gujarati
swell the swaggering egos of men
mirror them over and over
at twice their natural size.
Through the years
I watch Gujarati dissolve
bones and teeth of women, break them
on anvils of duty and service, burn them
to skeletal ash.
Words that don't exist in Gujarati :
Self-expression.
Individual.
Lesbian.

English rises in my throat
rapier flashed at yuppie boys
who claim their people “civilized” mine.
Thunderbolt hurled
at cab drivers yelling
Dirty black bastard!
Force-field against teenage hoods
hissing
F****ing Paki bitch!
Their tongue - or mine?
Have I become the enemy?

Listen:
my father speaks Urdu
language of dancing peacocks
rosewater fountains
even its curses are beautiful.
He speaks Hindi
suave and melodic
earthy Punjabi
salty rich as saag paneer
coastal Kiswahili
laced with Arabic,
he speaks Gujarati
solid ancestral pride.
Five languages
five different worlds
yet English
shrinks
him
down
before white men
who think their flat cold spiky words
make the only reality.

Words that don't exist in English:
Najjar
Garba
Arati.

If we cannot name it
does it exist?
When we lose language
does culture die? What happens
to a tongue of milk-heavy
cows, earthen pots
jingling anklets, temple bells,
when its children
grow up in Silicon Valley
to become
programmers?

Then there's American:
Kin'uh get some service?
Dontcha have ice?
Not:
May I have please?
Ben, mane madhath karso?
Tafadhali nipe rafiki
Donnez-moi, s'il vous plait
Puedo tener…..
Hello, I said can I get some service?!
Like, where's the line for Ay-mericans
in this goddamn airport?
Words that atomized two hundred thousand Iraqis:
Didja see how we kicked some major ass in the Gulf?
Lit up Bagdad like the fourth a' July!
Whupped those sand-niggers into a parking lot!

The children in my dreams speak in Gujarati
bright as butter
succulent cherries
sounds I can paint on the air with my breath
dance through like a Sufi mystic
words I can weep and howl and devour
words I can kiss and taste and dream
this tongue
I take back.

The following analysis of the poem is taken from Dan Ojwang's book, "Reading Migration and Culture: The World of East African Indian Literature" (2012). In this piece, which forms part of Shailja's collection of performance poems, Migritude, she tells of her troubled relation with English and Gujarati, her "Mother Tongue". The incessant and turbulent tussle with the two languages coincides with her autobiographical quest for an alternative gender and sexual identity against the beliefs of her mother. While English represents the violence of the British Empire and post-Cold War American world order, it is simultaneously a means through which she has accessed "words that don't exist in Gujarati: self-expression/individual/lesbian".  Since Gujarati marks the primal scene of her childhood in Kenya, in which attempts have been made to discipline her into an ideal ethnic and gendered "chhokri", I thnk she associates the language with fictions of purity that lie at the heart of dominant nationalist and diasporic ideologies.  Her initial interpretation of the language as a bearer of the patriarchal, nationalist logic of reproduction is reflected in the Gujarati-speaking children who appear in her dreams, begging her to take on a mothering role, an image that echoes her own childhood dependence on Gujarati-speaking figures of domestic authority.

Ojwang's book explains that Shailja also believes that English allows her to claim an ambiguous gender identity, symbolised by the image of a shaved head and combat boots, as opposed to the Gujarati-speaking "grannies in their white saris".  However, if English provides a set of ready-made concepts that name same sex desire, her exclusive adoption of it as a tool for queer self-fashioning ultimately appears to her as an abdication of some sort. Her earlier deviation from Gujarati, she comes to realise, is partly the product of colonially induced language shame.

Is my generation the progeny of a generation that was subject to colonially induced language shame? Is that why we think speaking in Gujarati is "uncool"? Are there grannies in white saris we want to rebel against at various subconscious levels? Is there some kind of historic subtext to why young professional East African Asians want to stay clear of all ties with Gujarati? 

Although English may have provided us with a vocabulary for responding to racism in the UK and the US, have we, in our quests to "fit in", forgotten that Gujarati and other languages spoken in East Africa gesture at senses of community, alternative to those forged by international capitalism (whose most privileged language is English)? Have we forgotten how sweet our language sounded at Mombasa's light house and Bamburi's beaches?

It saddens me to see that Gujarati might be associated with an inflexible tradition and that returning to it may warrant a high price, which, frankly, many of my generation are just not prepared to pay.  The reality, however, is that a rich language with a Sanskrit-based heritage cannot be devalued by those who simply can't be bothered to explore it. Did you really think that a language hailing from such a diverse region of South Asia doesn't have words for "lesbian", "self-expression" and "individual"?  Gujarati literature is not so dry and bland, my friends! You just need to look hard enough. 

I often feel like a solitary soldier in the quest for trying to keep the Gujarati language alive among young East African professionals like myself. It's part of who I am, what I am and why I am the way I am. Gujarati is me - I think in it, I dream in it, I sing in it, I breathe in it.  And I am not ashamed of an inexplicably beautiful language that has opened so many doors for me in life. You see, I learnt very early in life that only if you fully understand your own language, will you develop an appreciation of your heritage culture. And only if you fully comprehend your heritage, will you move on to develop an attitude of multiplicity, and understand and embrace other cultures that you encounter in this cosmopolitan world of ours. In my case, Gujarati has proven to be invaluable. Its Sanskrit origins have helped me develop a growing and impressive vocabulary in Bengali, also of Sanskrit origins; and I dare say, that has helped me forge new links with my better half's family and friends.

My encounters with young Bengalis in London has confirmed one fact. They don't have complexities with speaking their language. They are proud to speak it, indulge in it, sing in it, laugh in it and cry in it. Their's is a culture where English is only spoken for the benefit of those who don't understand Bengali. They have abundant pride in speaking Bengali when they get together and spend evenings singing rich melodies of songs penned by the Bengali Nobel laureate and poet, Tagore. Robindro shongeet, the name given to the genre of music based on Tagore's writings, has so far shown me how comfortable young Bengalis are with their language. Sadly, I cannot imagine anything of the sort with young Gujaratis. 

Perhaps, it might be unfair to compare their passions for their language with Gujaratis.  After all, Bengalis had to fight for their language. In the 1950s, when the Government of the Dominion of Pakistan ordained Urdu as the sole national language in East Bengal (modern day Bangladesh), extensive protests raged among the Bengali-speaking majority of the region. Facing rising sectarian tensions and mass discontent with the new law, the government outlawed public meetings and rallies. The students of the University of Dhaka and other political activists defied the law and organised a protest on 21 February 1952. The movement reached its climax when police killed student demonstrators on that day. After years of conflict, the central government relented and granted official status to the Bengali language in 1956. In 1999, UNESCO declared 21 February as International Mother Language Day, in tribute to the Bengali Language Movement and the ethno-linguistic rights of people around the world. The Bengali Language Movement catalysed the assertion of Bengali national identity in East Bengal and later, Bangladesh.

Shaheed Minaar, (the Martry's Monument) in Dhaka, Bangladesh, commemorates those who lost their lives during the Bengali Language Movements protests on 21 February1952

Perhaps, young Gujaratis don't value their language enough because their predecessors never had to fight for it? It might have never been under any physical threat, but I am certain that it is under diasporic threat. And that remains a sad but nevertheless veritable fact of life.

An adventure in Bengali gastronomy!

Last night, I ventured into, what was for me, uncharted territory, along with my Bengali fiancée, Mehwaesh.  We attended a lovely dinner party entitled "A Night On Chowringhee Lane", with the intention of enjoying a bit of Calcutta's cuisine in London.  Not having visited Calcutta before, Mehwaesh educated me with a bit of background, explaining that a diverse variety of street food can be savoured along the little lanes that go off Chowringhee in Calcutta, citing examples (which I only list here for the benefit of those with prior knowledge) such as "the chaat-wallah next to Lighthouse Cinema, kabab and paratha shops, phuchka wallah stands, authentic Mughlai food and biryani at Aminia and chilled dahi vadas on one of the side exits of New Market".  

This was no ordinary dinner party, though.  To start with, we didn't know the host, nor did we know who our fellow diners would be! What we attended last night can only best be described as a supper club - a growing London trend, neither restaurant nor dinner party, but both at once; ordinary people opening up their homes to paying strangers, and chefs who relish independence and informality of cooking for people at home.  Through a contact on Twitter, Mehwaesh found out about "A Night On Chowringhee Lane" online, and immediately fired me an email with details and excitement.   Hesitantly, I accepted and booked our places on the website, and then sat back, thinking to myself: "Never done this before - dinner party at a complete stranger's house! This could go one of two ways...."

All that trepidation, with which I walked up the steps to the Old Brompton Road building for our supper club, vanished instantly when we were greeted by our supper club host, Asma Khan's warm, smiling face as she welcomed us into her home.  The evening grew only better as we got to know this wonderfully talented, inspiring and immensely friendly lady. 

Asma Khan (in blue)

Asma runs a satisfyingly authentic Indian catering company, Darjeeling Express, building on her Nawabi/Mughal traditions to offer real meals with taste and history. But when I first saw her last night, her striking face suggested that there was more to her than just that.  As the evening progressed, I learnt that we we both have legal backgrounds too!  What I admired most about Asma last night was that she demonstrated with such pride some great Bengali food.  Asma grew up in India and worked for many years in her mother's catering business in Calcutta. Indeed, many of the dishes she cooks are family recipes. It was apparent that Calcutta, with its confluence of many cultures, has had an immense impact on Asma's cooking. You see, the food she cooked with such fervour last night reflected the flavours and tastes of not just the Bengal, but also embodied a heady mix of Mughlai and North Indian tones with Bihari, Rajasthani, Burmese, Chinese, Nepali and British influences. Her vibrant character is evidence of the fact that she loves new people tasting and enjoying her food, and it is very clear that that gives her immense satisfaction. 

Asma in action

With a dedicated vegetarian menu, I was spoilt for choice. After our Nimboo pani welcome drink, we were served with starters, which included Nepali vegetarian Momos (steamed vegetable dumplings that are, I am told, very popular in Calcutta), kala chanaa masala, parathas (flaky and flat bread).  Then came the phuchkas (Gujarati equivalent: pani puris) and that's when everyone got excited simple because Bengalis love their phuchkas, tiny hollow wafer cups filled with spiced potatoes, black chickpeas and a pungent tamarind sauce.  These were followed by baigani pakoras (aubergine pakoras) and samosas filled with mashed potatoes and peas.  After all of this, we struggled to do justice to the main course - a soft and creamy paneer korma, a saffron-infused vegetable pulao (rice dish), mirchi ka salaan (green chillies with onion, ground coconut and peanuts) and dahi vada (lentil fritters in spiced yoghurt).  By the time we hit desserts, we were stuffed; although the bhappa doi (steamed Bengali yoghurt) with fruit went down like a treat! To round it all off, Asma served us with cups of a light Darjeeling tea, which somehow did away with all fears of any impending morning after-effects! 

Last night, we dined with, among others, a couple of scientists, a BBC food magazine writer, an author of a popular Indian cooking book (who, herself, had a masala-filled persona), and a few Calcutta-ites.  Enthralling conversation in an intricately decorated South Kensington living room infused with memories of the Mughal Empire, all against an apt auditory background of mellow Bollywood tunes composed by some of the Bengal's best musicians.  It was surreal, different, novel, and yes, definitely fun! And best of all - I didn't feel patronised for being a vegetarian!

Navratri 2012: A festival of backless cholis

In a few days' time the speed dating festival of Navratri will commence.  I say "speed dating" because that is, sadly, what it has been reduced to these days.  Scores of sports grounds in Mumbai and Gujarat are already being fitted out with government-funded equipment (including, condom vending machines - OMG: I can't believe I said the "c" word! Bad boy, Paras!) to accommodate and entertain the throngs of revellers expected to dance and partake in the adrenalin-fueled sweaty nights of garba.  On the other hand, in a classic representation of exclusivity and discrimination, hundreds of private clubs across Western and North India will have sold their exorbitantly priced tickets to India's growing "nouveau-riche" bourgeoisie (middle class) who wish to have their own form of justified speed dating with appropriately adjusted pecuniary filters so that the "riffraff" don't get in and ruin the fun! All this, my friends, in the name of religion. 

In England, scores of Church of England school and town halls have been booked up for a series of 9 to 10 nights. Ticketed events by several Gujarati organisations have been organised.  Some even have special season tickets on sale which, if you intend to attend on all the days, might just work out to be cheaper.  We Gujaratis love a bargain! 9 days of garba fun for the price of 8!!! Navratri here has been reduced to a spectacle that one might choose to buy entry for, much like buying your Arsenal season tickets! And if you think the speed dating doesn't happen here in England, I think you need to book an appointment at Boots opticians soon, my friends.  In London, the Navratri equivalent of Tiger Tiger is perhaps Northolt, while Mahiki probably equates to Chiswick (minus the booze, of course!).  

"Navratri today is an exhibition of vulgarity with young girls having barely entered puberty, scantily dressed, sweating and hot with belly buttons pierced in inappropriate backless cholis and tights.  I mean, shouldn't we be leaving that to the experts in Bollywood?"

You see, it's only natural that the most important aspect of Navratri is its most celebrated - music, dance and general merriment. And don't get me wrong - one of the biggest social drivers for this festival is precisely the social cohesion and sense of community that the festival is intended to help foster.  But what many forget is the real spiritual dimension of Navratri.  Far from the tentacles of Narendra Modi's "Vibrant Gujarat" propaganda, the festival does actually have a deep-seated purpose of cultivating inner spiritual awareness through rituals that encourage self-control and renunciation.  Many forget that during Navratri, several devotees fast for the festival's duration, renouncing all forms of meat and grain.  On a meager diet of fruit and milk, devotees are encouraged to engage in meditation and self-contemplation.  Many continue to get on with their daily lives notwithstanding the harsh pangs of growing hunger in their bellies and those irresistible cravings for carbs. Others decide to give to charity, either in cash or kind.  But all of this is shrouded by the Navratri night clubs that temples and sports halls are converted into to satisfy the carnal urges of raging teenagers.  And of course, it's all "legit", yaar - because it's all in the name of religion. It's the one time when if you're a girl and dare to wear something revealing (well really, downright vulgar, when put in context) without having to succumb to your mum's glaring looks, you're fine. Why? All in the name of religion, yaar! It's more pleasant to say to mum - "I'm going to the garba tonight and won't be back until the morning!".  Replace the word "garba" with the name of any alcohol-fueled nightclub and you'll get a deluge of questions to answer and probably a curfew.

My point is this - the whole purpose of Navratri has become distorted.  What, I think, was a festival conjured up in ancient India to drive social cohesion, inclusiveness, culture and spiritual awareness, is now actually quite the opposite. Sadly, Navratri today is characterised by youths lip syncing to vulgar Bollywood atrocities (Munni badnaam hui, anyone?), dancing in their own groups trying very hard to be as wayward as possible. Navratri today is an exhibition of vulgarity with young girls having barely entered puberty, scantily dressed, sweating and hot with belly buttons pierced in inappropriate backless cholis and tights.  And you thought guys went to the garba to dance? We really should be leaving the "choli ke peeche kya hai" attitude to the experts in Bollywood.

Allow me to make myself clear.  I am not saying that one shouldn't participate in this year's Navratri festivities simply because of all the vulgarities that exist! To the contrary, I'm going to have fun and make the most of it (to the extent, that I am able to get out of work on time!). All I am saying is that just by playing a few rounds of garba and dandia raas, don't fool yourself by thinking you've achieved any spiritual brownie points.  Durga is not dumb.

Has Mombasa lost its "raha"?

"Mombasa Raha" is a popular phrase at the Kenyan coast. "Raha", in Swahili, means joy or happiness, and the phrase is used to express the excitement and fun of the Mombasa lifestyle.  In the wake of the recent riots that have plagued this the most important Indian Ocean port on the east coast of Africa, one can't help but wonder whether peace has fled Mombasa's shores for an indefinite period of time.

The assassination of an influential and very radical Al-Shabaab-influenced cleric (I will not use the term "Muslim" to describe him because, frankly, he does not deserve it and I would be doing injustice to all my Muslim friends and acquaintances) prompted two days of vicious rioting in Mombasa.  Yesterday seemed to be quiet, but there have been pockets of turbulence reported in parts of central Mombasa today.  Surely, any spell of tranquility will not last, especially given the impending elections and Kenyan politicians' fondness for stirring up unrest.

Law and order broke down earlier this week in Mombasa as rioters attacked churches (no one knows why these have been targeted!), burned tyres, looted shops and homes and threw grenades at vehicles and police. Some observers claimed to have witnessed rioters looting chicken! This all sounds rather familiar, given that London went through similar looting episodes last August, although, here, chicken was replaced by flat screen TVs.  So far four policemen have been killed in Mombasa, dying of their injuries after bearing the brunt of grenade explosions. Three civilians have died too, although by the time I publish this on line, more will have inevitably lost their lives. Some have been stoned, others have been hit with metal rods and some have simply been trapped in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This sudden and vicious orgy of  violence is itself sparked by another death.  It was broad daylight on Monday 27 August when Aboud Rogo was driving his minivan (matatu) along the Mombasa-Malindi route. Many of you will have been on that road when heading for Yul's Aquadrom at the Bamburi Beach. In the vehicle with him were his young daughter and wife. Apparently, his wife had miscarried two weeks earlier, and was feeling sick, so that family was on their way to the hospital. Reports claim that, suddenly, another vehicle overtook Rogo's minivan. From it, an unidentified gunman emptied half a clip of ammunition from his AK-47 in the direction of Rogo. Some of the bullets hit Rogo, enough to kill him and cause the vehicle to swerve off the road. A few rounds injured his wife in the leg, it has been reported.

If the reports are to be believed, Rogo died the way he lived: violently, and with little regard for the rule of law. Although nothing was ever proven in court, Rogo was linked with a number of terrorist attacks on Kenyan soil, most notably the US embassy bombings in Nairobi in 1998. He was high on the USA's terror watch list - so high that the US slapped travel sanctions on him and coaxed the United Nations to do likewise (the European Union was due to follow suit).

Rogo's notoriety was compounded by his alleged links to Al-Shabaab, the Somali fundamentalist militant group against which a substantial number (by now, in the thousands) of Kenyan troops are waging war in Somalia. Al-Shabaab repeatedly threatened to retaliate in Kenya, and has done so with a number of grenade attacks against civilian and police targets. Kenyan authorities suspected Rogo was helping to facilitate these attacks, and suspicions hardened when they raided his house and discovered a weapons cache with an AK-47, two hand grenades, pistols and plenty of ammunition. He was in the process of being tried for possession of illegal weapons, and reports claim that he was out on bail when he was killed.

Who killed him? Rogo's supporters and sympathisers in Mombasa claim it must have been a police hit - an explanation that probably accounted for much of the anger demonstrated by youths in the riots that followed. Tired of waiting for justice to take its course, and mindful of Rogo's Houdini-like ability to escape, the thinking goes that security officers arranged the killing. There has even been talk of US involvement in the killing.  Whatever it is, people are inclined to believe that security officers were involved. How else could they have done it in the middle of the day on a busy highway without anyone seeing a thing? No witnesses have come forward, it should be added. At the scene, Rogo's wife refused medical attention from police officers saying that it was the police who'd killed her husband and so she didn't want help from them.

Al-Shabaab is, of course, very clever. It quickly jumped on to this bandwagon, releasing a statement decrying the Kenyan "infidels" for their policy of extra-judicial killings against "Muslim" activists.

Police, naturally, denied this account. They claim that Rogo fell foul of political infighting in Al-Shabaab and that his murder was a deliberate ploy to incite tensions in Mombasa. If so, it worked.

Whoever killed Rogo - and let's face it, we won't know for quite some time, if ever - it's hard to ignore the central role played by Al-Shabaab and the feeling that the Kenyan government has brought this on itself. Kenyan officials knew what they were getting into when they invaded Somalia. If they didn't, it's because they hadn't read their history. Somalia has a way of hitting back at countries that get themselves too involved; just think of the Americans and the humiliation of Black Hawk Down (the Battle of Mogadishu in 1993 between US forces and Somali militia fighters), or the ridiculous Ethiopian invasion which unseated the relatively moderate Islamist Courts Union, only to pave the way for Al-Shabaab to take charge.

For Kenya, the grand Somali adventure has brought domestic unrest and a fraught relationship with the large minority of ethnic Somalis that consider themselves Kenyan. It threatens to boil over into something even more perilous if the militant talk being exchanged by Muslims and Christians in Mombasa doesn't dissipate quickly.

Foremost on Kenyan policitians' mind, however, will be the election scheduled for 2013, which is currently the driving force behind most government policy. If any of the main candidates can find a way to exploit these tensions to improve their chances at the polls, expect the violence and unrest to continue - just as tensions were encouraged and allowed to explode into brutal violence in the aftermath of the last elections in 2008. You see, Kenya's favourite politics is the politics of fear.

Of course, there's another way to win elections. Most Kenyans are peaceful souls that want calm and order. This is a golden opportunity for a Kenyan leader to forge a reputation as a peacemaker and unifier, an image that will play well with voters across the country, transcend the ethnic and tribal boundaries in Kenya, and do the country a world of good in the process. The optimist in me can only hope that one of the main candidates can see the sense of this through their own lust for power. The cynic in me thinks otherwise.  Please prove the cynic in me wrong.

Pakistan's fundamentalism and a Gujarati man's quashed dream

Many of my generation may not know that Pakistan's founding father, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, was born of a Gujarati father and was fluent in his pitrubhasha ("father-tongue"), Gujarati. The page below from the iconic Gujarati monthly "Vismi Sadi" (meaning the "20th Century") in May 1916 depicts the answers given by Jinnah to some simple questions in his own handwriting.  How poignant that Jinnah signed off here as માહમદ અલી ઝીણા (Maahmad Ali Zina) in Gujarati.

The column is entitled "Dil No Ekraar" (Confessions of the Heart).  The page roughly translates as:

Admirable virtue of a man : Independence

Admirable virtue of a woman : Loyalty

Success in life, according to you : Securing love from people

Favourite recreation : Horse-riding

Favourite flower : Lily

Favourite writer: Shakespeare

Favourite book: The Count of Monte Cristo

Motto: Never get disappointed

At Jinnah's tomb in Karachi, every evening a crowd of a few hundred gather to witness the changing of the guard and pay their respects to the father of the nation.  The pristine green and white Pakistani flag, centred with a moon and star flies high above.  For a moment all those gathered must undoubtedly feel a sense of pride. 

When Pakistan's flag was first raised at the birth of the nation 65 years ago, the white stripe was meant to symbolise liberty for the nation's diverse religions, with the green segment (along with the moon) representing the Islamic section of society. But as Pakistanis prepare for their next election in the 21st century, Jinnah's white stripe on the flag is stained not only with the blood of religious minorities but also with the blood of politicians who dare to champion their cause - all contrary to Jinnah's vision of secular, democratic state.  Jinnah must be turning in his grave.

In January 2011 the treatment of religious minorities became the single most polarising issue in this already intensely divided nation.  The then Governor of the state of Punjab, Salman Taseer was shot at point-blank range 27 times by his own body guard, Mumtaz Qadri.  Why? Controversially, Taseer had taken up the case of Asia Bibi, a Christian mother, who had been convicted of blasphemy after being accused of abusing Islam's holy prophet, a charge that Bibi still denies. 

No one, but Taseer, was willing to listen to Bibi's defence in which she claimed she was marginalised by local villagers who prevented her from sharing communal water supplies simply because she was not a Muslim. Bibi's troubles began in June 2009 in her village, Ittan Wali, a patchwork of lush fields and dusty streets. Hers was the only Christian household. She was picking berries alongside local Muslim women, when the row developed over sharing water. Days later, the women claimed she had insulted Islam's holy prophet. Soon, Asia Bibi was being pursued by a mob. In reality, as is often the case in Pakistan, the blasphemy law was being used to settle an old score with Bibi.

Salman Taseer's daughter, Sanam, lives in Lahore and now faces a life full of insecurity and uncertainty. Sanam has spoken at great length of the superb work that her father did, particularly in relation to countering the oppression of women and religious minorities in Pakistan.  When Sanam's father chose to get involved in fighting for justice for these oppressed communities, the family, rather naively, thought that everyone in their elite circles of power would support him.  How wrong they were.  In fighting for Asia Bibi's cause, Salman Taseer inadvertently distanced himself from the general mood of the nation and rapidly became a subject of intense controversy and condemnation, simply for choosing to exercise his democratic right to fight for Bibi, who had been vilified by local Islamic clerics and the general Pakistani establishment for allegedly violating Pakistan's Islamophilic blasphemy laws. 

Salman Taseer's killer, Mumtaz Qadri, was not a rogue militant on the fringes of society.  He was a state employee entrusted with the role of protecting the State Governor.  After barbarically shooting Taseer, he calmly handed himself over to the police.  What was particularly horrifying in the events that ensued, was that Qadri, a murderer, was perceived to be a national hero.  

All hopes of repealing Pakistan's blasphemy laws receded in the weeks following Taseer's murder.  As expected, many Pakistanis condemned Qadri as a religious fundamentalist.  More surprisingly, though, is his status as a national hero.  His home in Rawalpindi has become a magnet for Qadri supporters. Awash with politically-sponsored slogans such as "Qadri, teri jurrat ko salaam" (We salute your bravery, Qadri).  The area has become a national site of pilgrimage for the majority, who believe that all "good Muslims" should support Qadri for his efforts in inhumanely killing someone who, according to them, was successful in protecting the religion's honour at any cost.  

Qadri has been found guilty of murder in the Pakistani courts, but an appeal is pending and his lawyer is confident that Qadri will soon be a free man on the back of growing pro-Qadri national sentiment in a country where the judicial system is plagued by deep-rooted corruption. The crux of the matter is that Salman Taseer became a "legitimate target" by "crossing his limits" in challenging the country's blasphemy laws that, on paper, purport to protect the "religious feelings of any class of the citizens of Pakistan" (Section 295A of the Pakistan Penal Code (Act XLV of 1860)), but in reality, are applied by national authorities exclusively in favour of Islam and therefore in direct contradiction with the concept of rule of law. The facts speak for themselves. The minority population of Pakistan has dwindled from constituting 57% of the country's population in the 1950s to now just 3%. Rather unsurprisingly, Pakistan's government refuses to look at the facts and continues to claim that the persecution of religious minorities in Pakistan is something that does not exist.

Sanam Taseer is not optimistic about her future in Pakistan.  She fears for her family and the safety of her children in a country where the dark force of Islamic fundamentalism grows increasingly dominant.  This threatens to shadow Jinnah's vision of a secular society founded on the principles of democracy, much in line with the values of Islam's holy prophet, who, in his time, was a beacon of democracy and justice.  The problem is that today's Pakistan is seized by a wave of religious fundamentalism and dogmatism which creates an environment in which the true spirit of the ways of Islam's holy prophet have been much distorted to suit the political and economic greed for power.  Many in the pro-Qadri camp, rather conveniently, forget that the Prophet stood for democracy and the rule of law, and that their own support for Qadri's despicable actions are, as a matter of fact, a direct contravention of Islamic traditions of the Prophet (hadiths) upholding democracy and freedom of choice. 


Take, for example, the first thing that the Prophet did when his army of Muslims conquered the city of Mecca in January A.D. 630 - he declared a general amnesty. The people of Mecca were free to choose or reject Islam. Among the pardoned were the powerful leaders of the Quraysh tribe who were guilty of unspeakable atrocities against Muslims. For years they had harassed and hounded the Prophet and organised more than one attempt on his life. This first act as ruler attests to the spirit of the man entitled the Messenger of Compassion and Emancipation. The life of the Prophet of Islam glows with examples of forgiveness and mercy and with a love for the lofty ideals of the human race.

There were instances, even during the Prophet's lifetime, when some of his followers - and occasionally even his close companions - were at a loss to understand the noble spirit of his actions and decisions, and protested to him. Such encounters have been recorded, for example, when the Prophet signed the Al-Hudaybiyah peace pact with the Meccan leaders one year before the conquest of Mecca, and when he pardoned a Muslim who had fled Medina to join the Prophet's enemies, but was captured en route to Mecca. That some early Muslims argued against such decisions by the Prophet emanated from their inability to grasp the profoundly humanitarian essence of the message of Islam and its rejection of the notion that human character is immutable.



But trying to educate the pro-Qadri fanatics about such Islamic spirit of democracy, rule of law and humanitarianism is akin to casting pearls before swines.  What is required is a radical change in Pakistan's leadership so that religious freedom and the status of religious minorities are upheld in accordance with the rule of law.  What is required is, quite simply, another Muhammad Ali Jinnah.

"Learn from thy neighbour"

But perhaps short of finding Pakistan's next Jinnah, the country might do well to look to present day Bangladesh, another Muslim majority country in the South Asian region.

The country was born from the ruins of East Pakistan in 1971 after a war of independence in which India-backed nationalists - unhappy at being ruled from what was then West Pakistan - fought Islamists loyal to Islamabad. Three million people were slaughtered in eight months before the Pakistanis conceded. Those were the days before international criminal tribunals, and the world left Bangladesh largely alone to heal and rebuild.

It is now undergoing a kind of post-independence therapy, as Sheikh Hasina Wajed, Bangladesh’s Prime Minister (and daughter of the country’s first PM, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman - a secularist himself), launches the first set of war crimes trials in the Muslim world, to address the atrocities committed by Islamists during Bangladesh's struggle for independence. The decision has been hailed by international jurists, for good reason.

Unlike Pakistan, language and not religion is the organising principle of Bangladesh, but Islamists have, sadly, hijacked much of its history. Led by Ziaur Rahman, in 1979, the same year as the Iranian revolution, they took control of the state, amended the constitution, and created an Islamic republic.

Now, Hasina's government (rooted in the centre-left Awami League Party) has spared almost no expense to wipe out the traces of hard line Islam since its election in 2008. It has spent millions to rename public buildings that once honoured hard line Islamists, and rewritten laws to protect women from any form of compulsion to wear Islamic head coverings. The government has granted itself the means to dismantle Islamist militant networks. Through the Supreme Court, Hasina nullified Ziaur Rahman's 1979 amendment to Bangladesh's constitution, thereby restoring the concept of dhormo niropekhota (secularism, in Bangla) in the world's third-largest Muslim nation.

Unlike Pakistan's flag,  the green in Bangladesh's Bānlādēśēra jātīẏa patākā (national flag) represents the country's landscape and not the traditional colour of Islam.

I contend that a more secular, humanist Bangladesh emboldened by its culture has potential to empower the Pakistani intelligentsia against religious fundamentalists as well as being an inspiration for other countries with Muslim majorities around the world.  Of course, it will be interesting to see how India flexes its muscles in respect of all of this.....watch this space!

Why the Gujarati diaspora cannot let Modi get to Delhi

Panchavati, situated at 7, Race Course Road in New Delhi, is the official residence of the Prime Minister of India. It is nowhere near as well-known as London's 10 Downing Street, but is nevertheless apt for India's head of government. Set amidst a beautiful 12 acre site, Panchavati offers a tranquil setting in a plush area of New Delhi for the PM to contemplate and repose.  And it is here where Gujarat's Chief Minister, Narendra Modi's focus now appears to lie.



Where Narendra Modi wants to be: Panchavati, 7 Race Course Road, New Delhi



Yes, recent chat in the international media seems to suggest, rather alarmingly, that Modi has his eyes firmly set on New Delhi in respect of the 2014 Indian elections. Put simply, this cannot happen.

I should state at the outset that I am not entitled to vote in Indian politics, do not live in India, have no vested interests (economic or social) in India and do not advocate any of the multiple organised religious groups that seem to dominate modern day India's political stage.  However, I belong to the wider Gujarati diaspora, and am a descendant of immigrants that left Gujarat over a century ago to find greener pastures abroad.  It is under that capacity that I write here to urge fellow diaspora members to start thinking carefully of what they are endorsing.

Not long before he died in 1964, Jawaharlal Nehru said:

"The danger to India, mark you, is not communism. It is Hindu right-wing communalism".

He was terribly prescient. If Modi makes it to New Delhi, then it is certain that the current right-wing Hindutva hegemony that has so far enjoyed unmitigated success in Gujarat will spread across India.  That is deeply disturbing.  A religiously communalised Gujarat represents, as Radhika Desai, professor at the Department of Political Studies, University of Manitoba in Canada and author of "Slouching Towards Ayodhya: From Congress to Hindutva in Indian Politics", puts it, "the deeply problematic face of India's future".

Modi's political party, the Bharatiya Janata Party (the "BJP"), has held Gujarat for over a decade. He is the longest serving Chief Minister of Gujarat and has undoubtedly brought about immense economic and industrial progress to transform this once destitute region of India into a regional hub for trade and commerce.  In 2011, the Economist noted that Gujarat's infrastructure was capable of competing with Guangdong, China's  economic engine. Gujarat enjoys one of India's highest levels of private sector and foreign direct investment, largely originating from the diaspora and thanks to Modi's pro-liberalisation economic policies.

But amidst all the celebratory discourses surrounding  the economy of "Vibrant Gujarat", the diaspora has inadvertently let Gujarat, under Modi's watch, turn into what can simply be called a laboratory of hate. With the BJP's strong ties with its umbrella organisation, Sangh Parivar, which itself is inspired by the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (the "RSS"), a "social and cultural organisation"  which, according to the independent Human Rights Watch (HRW), is a known fascist pedigree with a Hindu majoritarian political agenda, it is unsurprising that the majority Hindu state of Gujarat is a gold mine for the increasingly dominant political party.

The point here is that Modi's affiliations with the RSS and the rest of the Sangh Parivar make him a dangerous candidate for the premiership of what  has always been, was conceived to be, and is, a secular nation. The re-election of Modi will place under direct threat Nehru's and Gandhi's generous vision of India as a nation embracing all layers of religious and racial groupings, and their notion of a non-sectarian, secular, democratic India.

We cannot simply overlook all the evidence from the international community and the NGOs which conclusively points to the participation of the Modi-administered state and police in the 2002 Gujarat violence. HRW's April 2002 report, "WE HAVE NO ORDERS TO SAVE YOU - State Participation and Complicity in Communal Violence in Gujarat" is an eye-opener for the diaspora.  The report is available to read here.  

That HRW report accepts that the 2002 Gujarat violence was fuelled, ostensibly, by revenge. The carnage was triggered after a Muslim mob’s torching of two train coaches on the Sabarmati Express at the Ghodra train station in February 2002. Fifty-eight passengers, including Sangh Parivar activists returning from Ayodhya, were killed in the horrific attack. The immediate and impulsive reaction of Narendra Modi was to claim that the massacre had been engineered by Pakistan's ISI (Inter Services Intelligence). No evidence has been given for this highly inflammatory revelation. The situation was further provoked by his decision to publicly parade the charred bodies in an emotive and provocative public procession from Godhra to Ahmedabad.  According to the HRW report, many victims testified that the police led the violent mobs directly to their homes and places of business. Emergency calls to the police went unheeded or were met with responses such as: “We don’t have any orders to save you”; “We cannot help you, we have orders from above”. The HRW report concludes that the attacks were clearly part of a “meticulously planned pogrom”against the Muslim community. Witnesses testify that the mob specifically targeted Muslims and their businesses. Computer printouts of Muslim voter lists and business addresses, reportedly obtained by Sangh Parivar "volunteers" from the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation, were, as the HRW report found, an integral part of the carnage.

The Tehelka sting operation, revealed just prior to the Gujarat state elections of December 2007, compounded the allegations of NGOs after the Gujarat riots of 2002. This time, however, the testimony came from the perpetrators themselves. Several members of the Sangh Parivar were caught on tape admitting their role and that of Modi's state government in the Gujarat genocide. Based on the evidence obtained from covert spycam footage, the case alleging Sangh Parivar collusion with the government of Gujarat in the riots of 2002 is overwhelming.  This link provides a chilling reminder of the ground-breaking Tehelka sting operation and of what was said about Modi at the time, most of which, as is evident from Modi's re-election, we all seem to have forgotten now!

A campaign of hate against the Gujarat state’s minority communities began years before the 2002 attacks. A 1999 Human Rights Watch report documented the August 1998 distribution of fliers by RSS and Hindu Jagran Manch (HJM), an offshoot of the Sangh Parivar, in Dangs district in southeastern Gujarat, site of a ten-day spate of violent and premeditated attacks on Christian communities and institutions during the 1998 Christmas holidays. 

The fact about Modi, whether we choose to accept it or not, is that his campaign is and will forever be haunted by the ghosts of the 2002 violence. One cannot forget that his ideologies come from the pre-independence fascist views of the Sangh Parivar organisations.  It is well known that for Modi, the first and most important of these organisations - the one that did the most to shape him and his worldview, and to advance his political ambitions - was the RSS.  To determine the RSS's founding principles, you need not look beyond the published 1938 writings of Madhav Golwalkar, the force behind today's Sangh Parivar.  It is clear from Golwalkar's writings that he was vehemently opposed to the concept of a secular Indian state which would not discriminate against its non-Hindu citizens. In "We, or Our Nation defined" (1938), he stated:

"The non-Hindu people of Hindustan must either adopt Hindu culture and language, must learn and respect and hold in reverence the Hindu religion, must entertain no idea but of those of glorification of the Hindu race and culture ... in a word they must cease to be foreigners, or may stay in the country, wholly subordinated to the Hindu nation, claiming nothing, deserving no privileges, far less any preferential treatment—not even citizens' rights."

If this abhorrent Hindutva ideology was to be propagated by Modi to the federal level, it would mean that India's Shah Rukh Khans, Sania Mirzas and Shabana Azmis and the millions of less-known others with “foreign” names would belong to another culture, even another race. They would never be “assimilated” by “Hindustan” although they know no world but India as it is today! In other words, these “foreigners” would be enemies until proven innocent by a jury made up of Golwalkar’s descendants i.e. Modi and his government minions.

We, the educated members of the Gujarati diaspora, need to think very carefully of how we invest in Gujarat and what affiliations we might, directly or indirectly, have with the Sangh Parivar.  Clearly, one would not want to be implicated in the generation of India's Frankenstein's monster. 

Why the Queen's Diamond Jubilee matters - even if you're not British

This weekend, Britain has basked in an unprecedented spirit of patriotism and allegiance. And it has been all for one 86 year old lady, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, or to you and me, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Yet, her appeal extends beyond the shores of the British isles and the Commonwealth - and that is because she personifies the possibility of stability in our rapidly changing world. As the Diamond Jubilee celebrations draw to a poignant close, we should all take a leaf out of the Queen's book, for her life has been a "don't panic" message, one which we all need in our daily battles that we choose to fight.

The Queen, having survived her family's multiple failures, a nation transformed by secularism and scepticism and the brutal, populist manipulations of the late Princess Diana, finds herself at the peak of her powers, unchallenged and unchallengeable.  On her 12th prime minister, 12th American president and 6th pope, the Queen represents endurance, not quite like a rock - something softer, but firmly impervious. Through her subtle mix of stubborn conservatism, meticulously calibrated remoteness and remarkably pragmatic adaptability, she has forced her critics to admit that the monarchy need not be abolished - not until at least Elizabeth II is succeeded.

Many might not have believed her when she declared her devotion to her public role in a way that is unimaginable to our minds today cultivated to pursue self-fulfilment.  In 1947, on her 21st birthday and five years before she ascended to the throne (in 1952), the then Princess Elizabeth gave this radio broadcast from Cape Town in South Africa:

Many of our leaders today often make similar declarations and promise to devote their lives to public service. But few have been able to honour their words with such fervour and dedication as the Queen. At a very young age, the Queen became aware that to succeed in one's struggles, one must change - but only just enough - so as not to compromise one's status quo. And she has managed to achieve that in a flawless manner. How else has the monarchy under her watch managed to survive the 20th century crushings beneath the rubble of modernity during which the Russian, German, Chinese and Ottoman monarchies vanished. 

What Queen Elizabeth II's 60 year reign teaches us is that while we all must keep calm and carry on, we should be vigilant of the need to unstiffen that upper lip at times and embrace change. For the true test of victory in any battle, big or small, is whether one stays the same in the aftermath; and the Queen teaches us that to stay the same you must change.