Book conversations: Angarey

1932 was the year in which Angarey was first published by a group of liberal Muslim intellectuals.  Even though they did anticipate some trouble before they published the book, they were probably unprepared for the furore this book generated.  It was banned by the then British government, at the behest of a few individuals who took deep offence at the contents of the book.  Some, it seems, did not even bother to go through the contents of the book, as most often happens when any piece of art is proscribed, ostensibly for hurting the religious sentiments of a few.  However, the banning of the book did pave the way for the formation of the Progressive Writers' Movement.

It was only in the 1980s, after much water had flowed under the bridge, that the collection was put together again with great difficulty; so much so that they writers had to get the microfilm of the stories from that repository of colonialists' souvenir collections - the British Museum.  This Urdu version was utilised by Chauhan and Alvi, professors of English and Urdu respectively at the Zakir Husain Delhi College, to translate it into English. 

All through the reading, I was monitoring the content to spot anything that might have been objectionable to religious leaders of the 1930s India.  I could hardly find any.  Perhaps what was objectionable then, has with time, become more acceptable to pubic and pundits alike.  The original authors make use of the 'stream of consciousness' technique - a type of literary style that reveals the character's free-flowing thoughts, and jumps from one theme to another with scant regard for appropriate punctuation.  This is combined, in these short stores, with the prevailing social, religious (mostly Islamic), cultural and class issues of the time. 

The first five stories are by Sajjad Zahir, father of Nadira Z Babbar who has written the preface for the book.  The author's Left-leaning is obvious in these stories of class struggle, femininity, sarcasm poverty, agnosticism, and religious cynicism.  Perhaps the one story that might have ruffled quite a few religious feathers is that of the Maulvi who, unable to keep up his holy night vigil, falls asleep and dreams of his entry to heaven where he is greeted by naked houris.  Dripping with tongue-in-cheek humour and sarcasm, passages from Heaven Assured! might have been quoted quite a few times by those who sought a ban on the book.  

The two stories by Ahmed Ali are an exercise in free-wheeling outpouring of thoughts - the stream of consciousness in action - but there is hardly any blasphemous content in either of the stories.  The only female author of the group, Rashid Jahan provides a story and a play that highlight women's issues - their status in a patriarchal society, their woes, their coping mechanisms, and the manipulations that they resort to, in a hope of leading a better life.  Perhaps for this reason, and the fact that she was a woman, Jahan was targeted the most by the Puritans of 1930s India.  Her husband, Mahmuduzzafar, provides the sole story of self-deprecating Masculinity, which once again throws light on the plight of women vis-a-vis the male ego.

The translators provide a lengthy introduction to the book, which while it enlightens one on the making of Angarey and the controversy it generated, keeps one away from the actual content; the stories that one is itching to read, and from finding out why they were deemed 'objectionable' by some.  One wishes that the actual points and opinions raised in protest against the book were revealed explicitly, along with the reactions from the individual authors.

Nevertheless, one has to applaud the original authors, and the efforts of Chauhan, Alvi and their publishers, for undertaking the onerous task of upholding free speech in today's world.  A world, which even after 83 years of Angarey, is still marred by religious hypersensitivity, intolerance, protests in the form of vandalism, and unjustified proscriptions.        

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Book conversations: Imaginary Homelands

The name is enough: Salman Rushdie.  I picked this one up just because of this, and also because I had not read any of his books earlier.  Not even Midnight's Children, which apparently was adjudged the 'Best of Booker'.  

And certainly not that one, which we all think of when we hear his name. 

This is a scathing, no-holds-barred, literary criticism of some of the best works by some of the best known authors world-wide.  Rushdie finds, in between praise for worthy contenders, errors in form, content and characterisation in just about every work that he peruses - and he does read a lot, it seems.

His ability to read between the lines and get behind the story to determine what the author was trying to say, has said, or did not say, is extraordinary.  His language, of course, is first-rate and exemplary, as you would imagine. 

He considers a long series of literary works - mostly fiction, and mostly from his contemporaries during the period of a decade - 1981 to 1991.  If you are not into South American or mainland European authors - like I am not - you can safely bypass a large segment of the book, and concentrate instead on the bits that matter - at least to me, which occur in the beginning and the end of the book.

These are to do with his take on religion, literature, English language, politics, and films.  There is a delightful essay about Indian words appropriated into English during the Raj, and later published as Hobson Jobson, which, believe it or not, is said to be a corruption of the 'Ya Hussain, Ali Hussain' cries heard during Moharram!  

He saves the best for the last.  The last major chapter of the book is about the controversy surrounding his banned book, The Satanic Verses.  I always wondered if he was affected by this controversy.  Hell, yes, it seems he was!  And you get to know just how much in this last segment of the book.  I was struck by the strangeness of the whole situation: he was a born Muslim, but he openly declared, at the age of 15 that he was not a Muslim; on the other hand he decided he was an atheist.  He demonstrated this by consuming a pork sandwich, after which, he discovered to his joy and relief, that he was not struck down by thunder or lightning.

However he had a soft corner for this born-into religion, especially towards that aspect of his faith which allowed for a liberated world-view and free speech, which he sadly realised later was never going to be a part of Already Existing Islam, as he puts it.  Finally, he was hounded by the followers of that very faith, and imprisoned in a cocoon of non-existence for several years.

There is a touching description of how he went through hell during the mass demonstrations and fatwas that called for his killing the world over, especially in the UK, where he lived in his 'bubble', as he puts it.  Here he puts forth his view, his justification for the contents of the book, and the fact that a metaphorical and fictional re-interpretation of Islam was vilified by those who never understood it, or even so much as read the book.

There is a terrific piece about how 'literalism' in interpreting the religious books is contributing to fundamentalist thought and action, and about the tussle between the mundane and the magnificent, the good and the bad, and religion and literature.

He also describes certain passages from the book, which were considered to be blasphemous at the time - this is the closest that we could get to actually reading the book as it is still banned in India.

Go for it for the language, critical views, and opinions of a master thinker and writer.


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