Freedom: Is this the India we want?

I am writing this on the morning of 2^nd October.  Gandhiji’s favourite hymns and bhajans are playing in the background.  Later in the day, the film Gandhi will be shown on television, just as it is shown every year this day. 

The day’s newspaper carries the screaming headline: the family of the man who was lynched for eating beef demands CBI probe, and eight families flee the village where he was living.  The irony is inescapable.

Is this the India Gandhiji would have wanted to see?  Is this the India you and I want? 

Over the last few months, there have been several instances of intolerance and superstitious practices that have made headline news.  No doubt, there are regional issues at play in the occurrence of each of these incidents, but taken collectively, they are indicative of the hypocrisy and misplaced sense of importance ascribed to certain matters that we hold dear.

Yes, go-raksha is important, but don’t we also come across several abandoned cows roaming our streets, blocking traffic, sitting in filth, and eating garbage?  If we were genuinely concerned about the animal’s well-being, there would not be a single stray cow in our urban areas. 

Why should the culinary habits of certain communities affect our sentiments so much anyway?  How different is the imposition of beef ban from ‘non-believers’ being forced to refrain from eating in public during the fasting month in middle-eastern countries? 

Besides, why confine your daya to the cow only?  Doesn’t Sanatana Dharma consider every living being to be an aspect of the divine?  Therefore, shouldn’t we be saving all animals; dogs, cows, donkeys, buffaloes, and birds in cages from a life of bondage and abuse?

A prominent weekly magazine recently reported that in a southern state – where animal sacrifice during religious festivals is rampant – there has been a spate of human sacrifices.  At least two individuals – a man and a child – were found murdered with their throats slit, and the paraphernalia of ritual worship were lying all around them. 

In another harrowing incident, this time in another southern state, a mother who went looking for her missing son, was shocked to find his body parts in her neighbour’s house.  The man had enticed the child into entering his house and carried out the deed.  Vigilantes later caught hold of the man and attempted to burn him. 

I can almost visualize the missionary exhorting his gullible audience: “Is this the kind of religion that you want to belong to?  Give up your barbaric faith, you heathen, and repent while you can!  Join the only true path and save your souls!!”

Hold on Mr Missionary.  Let’s look at what your brethren from a northeastern state have been up to.  Members of a certain NGO have apparently taken it upon themselves to “cleanse the society of homosexuals”.  As part of the anti-LGBT drive, volunteers have pledged to go door-to-door to “bring them back” to “proper culture”.  Further, they said, “we believe in God; as per our teachings, homosexuality is a wrongful deed, we want males to be like males and females to be like females.”

Over the last few months, as many as three rationalists have been shot dead, allegedly for publicly airing their opinions.  The fact that dissent and debate have been time-honoured components of free speech in India doesn’t seem to matter anymore.  Or perhaps, this must be a sign of emasculation; if you are unable to counter the rationalist’s view with a sane counter-argument, get rid of the source of the problem itself. 

Why does somebody else’s culture, dietary habits, sexuality and opinions rankle us so much?  Are we so insecure that differences such as these should erode our sense of acceptance, tolerance and peaceful coexistence? 

If our culture, religion and society do not evolve, and instead rigidly hold on to pietistic and deadwood practices, we would be in serious danger of turning into Taliban-land.  Or an ISIS-controlled state.  And that is the last thing we would ever want.  Before it is too late, we need to shun the narrowness, the hypocrisy, the superstition, and the intolerance.

Speaking of hypocrisy, the media should also accord equal importance to misdemeanours committed by adherents of all faiths.  Focusing entirely on the antics of a few fringe elements of the majority religion takes the attention away from the fruitful work that the present government is carrying out, which is so much better than that of the previous ridiculous government.  And the same request goes out to the 'civil' society of India, authors included.

So, to answer the question, this is not the India I want.  I want my religion and country to be free in every sense of the word.  How about you?   




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Book conversations: Lajja

21 years after it was first banned, it seems that the theme on which Lajja is based will never go out of vogue.  Taslima Nasrin says as much in her introduction to this 2014 edition: 'Lajja will remain relevant as long as the incidents described in it continue to happen...Lajja waits for a time of equality, empathy and freedom'.  Both Lajja and its creator are still waiting.  And like the fate of the characters of the story, it appears that it is futile to wait.  As things stand now, one cannot quite see any end to fundamentalism, intolerance, or bans.  

In this context, it is worth noting that while Nasrin and Salman Rushdie were not so lucky, Bhyrappa did well to get away with his Aavarana without facing a backlash by the pseudosecular types. 

Speaking of which, there is something strangely alluring about all things that are banned.  A certain sense of curiosity compels you to look behind the screen to find out just what the government is trying to hide.  It is with this sentiment that I bought this book.  Having gone through it, one can understand why the Bangladesh government wanted it banned.  But what about the Indian government?  The West Bengal government of 1994 banned the book, and Nasrin was not even allowed to seek sanctuary in India - ironically - unlike the characters of her story.

Nasrin uses the backdrop of the 1992 felling of Babri Masjid to narrate a harrowing tale of violence, bigotry and intolerance.  A Hindu family of four is caught in the whirlwind that is unleashed when its own countrymen resort to looting, pillaging and killing in the name of seeking revenge for the demolition of the mosque.  The fact that the incident happened in another country, that the Hindus of their own country are not responsible for the destruction of the mosque, and that by killing them there cannot be any peace, is lost on the murderous mobs.  

Nasrin highlights the silence of the government and the denial of the well-off intellectuals with regards to the overwhelming display of religious intolerance.  Through her characters' narrations, Nasrin recounts the minute details of destruction of temples, houses being set alight and looted, kidnapping, and rape and murder of thousands of innocent men, women and children. As one of the characters puts it, there is no riot in the country; riot implies that two communities are fighting each other - something that is likely to occur in India when the majority and minority communities face off.  Instead, what is unleashed in Bangladesh is pure terror and subjugation, because Hindus are not allowed to retaliate even as their houses are plundered and women ravaged.

One has to get used to Nasrin's use of the Bengali names, with their generous dose of 'o's; the principal characters are called Sudhamoy, Suronjon, Kironmoyee and Maya.  Anchita Ghatak, who has translated from Bengali, has retained the Bengali spelling and pronunciation of names of people and places.  However, the translation on the whole is excellent.  

Both the father and son, Sudhamoy and Suronjon are idealistic and leftist to begin with.  While the father takes an active part in the 1971 liberation war, the son is into helping people and atheism.  So much so that they disallow the mother, Kironmoyee from keeping her gods in the home.  They nurse a hope that one day Bangladesh will shed its communal politics and adopt a policy of equality and secularism.  This hope is shattered as the communal segregation and Hindu persecution sets in.  

Suronjon is unemployed (he doesn't like to be at others' beck and call, as he puts it), buys cigarettes with the money he gets from his parents, has no real aim in life other than to wander and chat with friends, and does not attend to the needs of his parents or his younger sister, Maya.  For me, he is the most unlikeable character, and, by the time he realises the folly of his ways and the futility of his dream of a secular country, the unthinkable has already occurred - Maya is kidnapped by a group of fundamentalists and never returns.  

His father's denial of the fact that the state and the society are communal, and that there are good people willing to help them, even after suffering so much of religious intolerance throughout his life, and losing his daughter, irks not only Suronjon, but also us.  In all this, the most pitiful character is the mother, Kironmoyee, as she sacrifices her every wish and serves her husband and children till the bitter end.  In the end, the decision that should have been made much before they lost everything, is reached, as Sudhamoy agrees to migrate to India.  

Nasrin exposes what it is like to be an outsider living in a land that has based its constitution on the teachings of one particular faith, at the cost of secularism.  So you find that the characters have always had bitter experiences with the neighbours, friends and society, much before the precipitating event.  Maya is made to recite hymns of the state religion and excluded from school if she does not.  Suronjon is tricked by his friend into eating beef, and is addressed as 'son of infidel' at school.  Sudhamoy is forcibly circumcised, after which he is incapable of union with his wife forever, his land is usurped by a neighbour, and he is frequently overlooked when it comes to promotions at work.

The title, Lajja, probably pertains to the shame that a nation has to bear as it fails to safeguard its own children due to its partial state policies.  

Of late, several activists and writers have been silenced or killed; mostly in Asian countries.  Perumal Murugan, a writer in Tamil Nadu was forced to tender an apology for a book he had written, which apparently 'hurt the religious sentiments' of a group.  He went on to announce his own death as a writer in the social media.  Another writer, Murugesan was attacked by a mob in the same state as he had written an 'obscene story'.  Washiqur Rahman and Avijit Roy, both lost their lives within a span of a month for blogging on secularism and against religious fundamentalism in Bangladesh.  Both were hacked to death with crude weapons.  The police, in a manner that animates Lajja's content, initially refused to reveal whether fundamentalists belonging to the state religion were behind the attacks.

Truly, freedom of speech, although guaranteed by most states, appears to be confined to the papers that the words are written on.  Its detractors might suggest that there is a limit to what one can express, and that it should not needlessly malign a person or a community.  This may be so, but if one wants to retaliate, one can do so by coming up with a counter-point that challenges the original notion.  Having said that, to me, freedom of speech also means to uphold truth and dharma at all times, instead of taking one side over the other, driven by either dogmatic beliefs or pseudosecularism.  

Instead, the bigots try to suppress free speech through violence, intimidation, banning and killing; and in theocratic and fundamental societies they are allowed a free run.  

That is the real lajja.




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The Sadhvi Niranjan Jyoti issue

So yet another minister has put her foot in the mouth.

It is a meaningless comment to begin with.  Even though her rhyming skills are good - Ramzada and haramzada - the very concept of haramzada is flawed within Sanatana Dharma.

Following another faith is certainly not haram for a religion which espouses the concept of Vasudhaiva kutumbakam.  The philosophers and seers of Sanatana Dharma have all propounded that all faiths are but different roads to the same destination - the One God.  

It is grating and worrying to note that a person who is addressed as a Sadhvi should be so blatant about expressing her radical thought, as well as exposing her judgmental attitude towards followers of other faiths.  

This, and a few other insensitive remarks by other ministers, have given an ideal opportunity for the pseudo-secularists, Congresswalas and the leftists to pounce upon the government.

It is rich that Congress should be accusing the Prime Minister of 'culpable silence'.  Where does that leave Manmohan Singh then?

To reiterate, everybody is welcome to live in Bharatvarsh, everybody is welcome to partake of its riches, everybody is free to follow their own religious and cultural beliefs; as long as they do not indulge in criminal, anti-state, fundamentalist, or faith conversion-related activities.

I disown the Sadhvi's statement.


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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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