Here's another sin right after fireworks

"Chess is strictly forbidden in the hadis; cards and chausar are like chess and therefore are also forbidden. Players' hearts get so absorbed in these games that the players are good for nothing else; they neglect both their worldly concerns and their religious concerns. surely this is very Bad! Kites are exactly the same (<--Oh no!) In the case of kites, moreover, boys have been killed falling off roofs while chasing kites. You must be firm in bever letting your children play such games or giving them money to do so." 

So...what can they do for fun I wonder?

repeated motherhood

For my research I read something interesting about motherhood in India (this is not my topic though). In patricia jeffery's study of the pirzada women, wives of the custodians of the Sufi shrine in a village called Saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, usually have over eight children. The lack of contraceptives, high death rates in infants (and husbands who generally want more children than do their wives) all contribute to the high birth rates (as a side note, this study is published in the 1980s, somethings are not relevant anymore). 

Speaking of high birthrates in literature, many wives in Reza's novels have numerous children. Khairum (khan sahib's wife) has 18 children. Repeated motherhood is not necassarily frowned upon by Reza. However, Chunghtai might have something to say about having too many, as the first few pages of the Crooked Line indicate criticisms for uncaring mothers and indifferent fathers. Furthermore, repeated motherhood has a ruinous effect on women's health. One woman recounts in jeffery's study how plump she was in her youth and that constant worries about feeding the children has taken the rosy colors from her cheeks and how weak she has gotten over the years.

Love comes too late

have you guys read Love comes too late from Manto. i really don't know what to make of this one. Basically, you have a "peave loving man" who hates to "slave for others," kind of like a bum for short, and another faceless woman talking on the phone. They flirt for a while  before one proposes that they meet. He refuses to meet her until he's properly dressed. She goes away for a few days and comes back to phone him, he spits out blood on the other end while she finally gives him her number.

The decorations on Tazias

So i remember in a village divided, in one strip (I forgot if it was the northern or southern strip), the tazias are decorated by the high ranking members of the village only while in the other strip they are lower caste members are given that honor. It turns out, the professor explained that it is not really because of social tolerance and fluidity that they allow the low caste members to beautify the shrines, rather, in that particular part, people with status consider the job beneath them and therefore assign the duty to the bottom caste. Interesting.

passages from Toba Tek Singh

They tried to set his thinking straight. "Look, Toba Singh has gone to Hindustan" one of the guards tried to humour him. "If it is not there we will see to it that it is dispatched there at once." But Bishan Singh was adamant. When they tried to drag him to the other side he stood firmly on his swollen legs in the middle of the road as if not power on eath could dislodge him from there. But he was a harmless man. They left him alone for the time being and proceeded with the rest of the exchange.

Just before dawn, Bishan Singh, who had been standing inert let out a horrible scream. Officers bfrom both sides ran forward and saw that the man who had always stood erect on his legs for the last fifteen years was now lying on his face. On one side behind him stood together the lunatics of Hindustan and on the other side across the road, lunatics of Pakistan. Between them on the no-man's land Toba Tek Singh lay stretched.

A Village Divided

Remember the never-ending number of characters in Rahi Masoom Reza’s “A Village Divided”? I had forgotten about them until I was reviewing the book, and it made me wonder, what was the author’s purpose in including such an outrageous amount of characters in the book? It was obviously a choice by the author to overwhelm the reader with characters, and none of the characters even become “main” characters in the book. Many of them are briefly introduced and then dropped forever. I think it has something to do with the individual not being important, because the group is of higher regard. Any other ideas?

Bahadur Shah's poem <--poet cited in Twilight in Delhi

Look what I found:

I had requested for a long life a life of four days
Two passed by in pining, and two in waiting
How unlucky is Zafar! For burial
Even two yards of land were not to be had, in
The land (of the) beloved.)

My life gives no ray of light, I bring no solace to heart or eye
Out of dust to dust again, of no use to anyone am I
Barred the door of fate for me, bereft of my dear ones am I
The spring of a flower garden ruined
Alas, my autumn wing am I)

I came into the world and what did I see?
Whatever I saw was just like a dream.
Man is moulded from clay but
I saw him as a bubble of water.)

From the author's introduction to Twilight in Delhi

My purpose was to depict a phase of our national life and the decay of a whole culture, a particular mode of thought and living, now dead an gone already right before our eyes. Seldom is one allowed to see a pageant of History whirl past and partake in it too. Already, since its publication, the Delhi of the novel has changed beyond recognition. For its culture had been nourished and born within the City walls which lie demolished today; and the distinction between the language of the city and outside world has disappeared in the rattle of the many tongues, even as the homogeneity of its life has been engulfed by the tide of democracy.

More on "Sunlight on A Broken Column"

I thought it would be interesting to explore some of the themes in “Sunlight on a Broken Column.” Throughout the novel, there are recurring themes about family, rebellion, and social and political change (as a result of Partition). Many of the characters in the book are rebelling against the new political powers that threaten the world they live in today. There are also themes about the changing Muslim world as a result of all the political influence on India. My favorite theme is one about division, the division of land and people, and the need to choose sides. I think the book is called “Sunlight on a Broken Column” because India represents the broken column after Partition, but the light symbolizes that there is hope for the broken nation.

Sunlight on a Broken Column

“Sunlight on a Broken Column,” by Attia Hosain, did not exactly turn to be a plot driven book that I couldn’t put down. Instead, it allowed me to take a look at the life of an upper class Muslim family with a culture and a time in history that I was unfamiliar with, just before Partition. But I was able to relate to this culture that I barely knew anything about just by the common ideas about school, friendships, and romances. I like how the two brothers are split up by Partition in the book because they come to each represent a side of the battle.

Bariamma as the physical embodiment of purdah and zenananas

I want to talk a bit about the Hyder zenana in Shame, and how Bariamma is portrayed as the matriarch and overseer of the traditions surrounding it. I suppose there are two possible readings of this parallel. One would be that Bariamma's age reflects wisdom, and she is the keeper of tradition in order to serve as a form of wise guidance over the actions of her family. However, by describing Bariamma as feeble, bald, and toothless, Rushdie seems to be hinting at something else. Perhaps that Bariamma's decline runs parallel to the decline of Islamic traditions in society. Or maybe her age represents the archaic value systems represented in these traditions that is becoming more and more removed from modern ideas as time goes on. In any case, the "the matriarch wore a wig," implicating that Bariamma is clinging to her last vestiges of youth and vitality, so if she is supposed to embody the traditions of purdah and the zenana, it would seem that the matriarch is on her way out, soon to be replaced.

Questions

Why did Mohsin Hamid write this story the way he did? He could have chosen to have Changez talking to a native or a friend, rather than an American who is a stranger to him. He could have told someone he was more familiar with about his experiences in America, but instead it was told to a complete stranger who was an American. There is also the question of what is the significance of the Amercan who is visiting in Pakistan? Is he carrying a gun or is it a business card case? If it is a gun is he there to kill Changez, for what reason? Or if it is a business card case is the American there to represent an impending economic destruction? So many questions, I wish we could have the real answers to them.

Thinking back to Umrao Jan...

In the episode where Umrao Jan goes to her childhood home and sees her mother and her brother, the concept of family honor really struck me the first time I read it. To think that Umrao's brother would kill her due to her profession seems to overlook Umrao's talent and her value as a vessel of art and tradition. Would I be wrong in assuming that a male who had achieved Umrao Jan's level of success would be accepted by his family regardless of how he attained his wealth. I don't suppose there were male prostitutes available at this time from which to draw a valid comparison, but this seems like a double standard to me. Then again, due to the strong social stigma against prostitution, Umrao's brother views her with such disdain that he can hardly bear her presence, let alone appreciate her for her talents over her profession.

Ruswa and Hamid

I just wanted to draw a parallel between Umrao Jan Ada and The Reluctant Fundamentalist in the sense that both novels require readers to give in to form of the novel. By setting up both stories in the form of a conversation, Ruswa and Hamid give the impression that each story is organic and genuinely spontaneous, when in actuality they are well-planned. Yes, I know, Hamid's planning seems far more apparent than Ruswa's, I'm just pointing out one specific function of this form. While Hamid has a relatively clear bias that seems to motivate his using this form, Ruswa seems to be evoking the spirit of tradition embodied in Umrao Jan by using conversation to place readers in the same room as the characters.

Purdah in Sunlight on a Broken Column

I've been thinking about Dr. Shingavi's response to one of my earlier posts in which he says that, for the upper-class, religion is one of last bastions of moral superiority over their rulers, the British; if they let religion fall away, they must ultimately accept their social inferiority. I think we can all agree that most of the characters in Sunlight are social machines, but what are the implications for observing purdah for the aristocracy? We see Laila and Zahra observing purdah to an extreme that would be impossible for less well-off women, what with curtained automobiles and entire living quarters constructed for the sole use of women. This presents Laila and her female peers the advantage of being able to go places and do things, but with the burden of strict purdah being ever-present. But what about the social gatherings where women are in Western dress, there is mixed company between men and women? Aren't these women giving up their status by conforming to Western influence?

Why this impossible feminism?

I guess I'm still pondering the purpose behind all the portrayals of women facing so much adversity in the texts we've read in this class. I suppose the fact that the conservative Islamic influence colors many of these narratives, which I can only associate with Thanawi's Perfecting Women since that is the extent of my knowledge in this area. But in other texts, the authors seem to be addressing the plight of women directly. And it certainly does seem that almost every female character has it bad. My question is: Are there happy women who aren't abused and taken advantage of? Does the frequency of these abuses in literature reflect the frequency of these abuses in life? If so, the authors must be calling for change. If not, then the question remains of why women are portrayed in this way.

I've been thinking about the design of this class and its stated purpose - showing that Islam is as much a religion of the pen as of the sword. I must say that this class has broadened my perspective in many ways: I'm more familiar with a culture that was almost completely foreign to me at the beginning of the semester, my knowledge of the geography and recent history of South Asia has grown considerably, and I have a broader sense of world events and the U.S. place in it. While my initial belief was never that Islam was a religion of the sword on the whole - despite 9/11 and all of the negative portrayals of Islam in the media since then - it's amazing to learn so much about the human experience of living in a different culture; my eyes have been opened to concepts and societies I would never have known about had I not taken this class. The literature we've read has certainly defied my expectations; I suppose I was expecting the texts to have more of a Thanawian bias.

In response to Mary's post about Gender and Shame in Shame...

I think there are constant contradictions in the way that pregnancy and womanhood is conceptualized not only here, but also elsewhere. Think of the madonna and the whore. Thao made a connection between Mary's point and the many conflicted views of pregancy in the Crooked Line. I agree with Thao in her comment that this novel is so unbelievably complicated, which is why I'm not really going to try to tackle what Chugthai means by the various reactions to pregancy in her novel. I just wanted to point out how pregnancy is so tied to shame even in our society because of the deep competitiveness that surrounds the ability to procreate, and now...the emphasis has been placed on -how- a woman is able to procreate. Giving a natural birth has now become a bragging point. In this, I think, though, I can pull the idea that there is an undeniable connection between shame and pride...which may offer an explanation as to why pregnancy may be so dually conceived. Get it? conceived?

After my paper, I've been thinking more about the writers behind the stories, and their intentions, motivations, etc. I know Snehal said today in class that intentionality is essentially impossible to prove (and must, then, always be assumed)...ok, I lost my train of thought.

In any case, I've been thinking especially about an author's self-consciousness when writing a novel, and I'm not talking exactly (I don't think) about the kind of self-consciousness that happens when you accidently wear a mismatching pair of shoes or forget your pants or anything like that, but more about the kind that...well, in Twilight in Delhi, I see the abortive masculinities and their subsequent lack of agency (in the characters), and it's all too easy to extrapolate a conclusion that the writing of such masculinities may betray some certain amount of masculine anxiety within Ahmed Ali?

So...going back to my last post...I guess all I'm really doing is clarifying what I couldn't clarify in the last post (but please count this as two blog posts. This wasn't at all what I set out to do)...(god, can you tell how incoherent I am?)...anyways...what kind of authorial self-consciousnesses or anxieties can we extrapolate from the lack of character in contemporary writing?

So in thinking about this idea that the element of character has really kind of fallen out of modern writing, I have to ask the question why? Of course, it would be helpful to be able to trace some kind of history of this phenomenon, but at this point, I can only postulate that a lack of character, or perhaps an inability to arrive at a literary character that is fully expressed, reflects a perceived lack of agency within the modern person. Within the narrative, (like Shame or The Reluctant Fundamentalist) the message is really pushed within an allegory, within the structure of the narrative, or within the body of the narrative framework. However, when we think about the effectiveness of the message and the fact that the creation of that message is essentially an action of a person that demonstrates agency...I don't know, there seems to be a contradiction here.

Of course, I'm working off an assumption that may or may not be right...

I guess what I'm trying to get at is...if there is this apparent reduced personal efficacy in our post-modern, post-post modern world...How exactly are the writers responding to this by creating non-character driven plots?

I think it's interesting to think about the different types of ways history is rendered from the first narrative Umrao Jan Ada, a real story story, even with the artifice of an orally delivered/written story...to the narratives that are stories but not like The Reluctant Fundamentalist.

There is obviously a shift from older modes of story telling to post-modern modes of story telling and what? post-post modern modes? Is that what Hamid is? and that post-modernism was born out of a need to re-envision the telling of the world or of reality (or lack of) through new forms of literature, but can we think of a historical imperative specific to India that require a re-envisioning of literary form like the kind that we see in Shame or in The Reluctant Fundamentalist? To a lesser extent, we see it too in Reza and Ali (I think)...

I'm not really going to try to understand this too deeply right now.

Constant calls for change

I found it very interesting that Thanawi's motivation for writing "Perfecting Women" was that he was proposing a solution for a faltering society, and while the influence of this text is felt and responded to in most every text we've read, the modern sentiment seems to reject Thanawi's notions in favor of a progressive fusion of Western influence and Eastern traditions. Rushdie flaunts purdah, Ali gives readers an uncompromisingly tragic Bilqeece based on Thanawi's ideals, and Chughtai creates Shaman as a possible model for empowered women. I think these calls for change, or, at the very least, a critical assessment of widely accepted social mores, are evidence of the constant evolution and development of society at large.

So I'm not even going to pretend that I'm entirely of sound mind right now, but I get the sense that that doesn't entirely matter.

I'm interested in what Chugthai is trying to say in The Crooked Line by creating a character like Shaman who, in her actions, rejects for nearly the whole novel, the notions of traditional womanhood, while simultaneously promoting it in her friend Alma. She can't bring herself to let go of those traditional notions, but at the same time, can't bring herself to be a woman as she "should" be--a wife, a mother. Remember her FOUR abortive attempts at surrogate motherhood.

Following this same vein of thought...what does it mean that Shaman can only embrace semblances of these notions of womanhood while married to a white man, specifically a white soldier. But then again...she doesn't really embrace womanhood, at least not motherhood. Her ambiguous motherhood seems like such a catastrophe at the end.

Wow...looks like everyone's had a long night huh?

I understand this doesn't add to my final post count. I'm bringing bagels to class today!

Character in Twilight in Delhi

More on character, as it came up talking about TID that the book is not really about characters, but is the story of the city told through the family story. For me that is akin to saying that The Wire is not really about McNulty or Stringer Bell or Omar Little, it's really about Baltimore (I hope this reference is not lost on everyone). The question is just one of emphasis. You cannot have a novel without characters; if a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, no one gives a shit. If you subtract Mir Nihal and Asghar from TID, what are you left with? Crows fighting over a bone? Who the hell would want to read about that?

Nipple stories

I think I called them that. Thinking about them again, about Manto's nipple fascination, I think it must (like much of his sexual content) be a product of the repression of the society he lived in and his need to expose what has hypocritically been kept hidden. His need to tell the horrible stories of Partition seem to spring from the same source-- the drive to expose what is hidden, or to put it more simply, to tell the truth. I'll sidestep the "and does anything tell the truth ever? booga booga!" foolishness and cite Picasso: "Art is a lie that helps us realize the truth." And I think I read somewhere that art is the most honest of all lies.

Characters in fiction

From James Woods' How Fiction Works:

William Gass, commenting on a character in a Henry James novel:

"What is Mr. Cashmore? Here is the answer I shall give: Mr. Cashmore is 1) a noise, 2) a proper name, 3) a complex system of ideas, 4) a controlling perception, 5) an instrument of verbal organization, 6) a pretended mode of referring, and 7) a source of verbal energy. He is not an object of perception, and nothing whatever that is appropriate to persons can be correctly said of him."

responds Woods:

"I find this deeply, incorrigibly wrong. Of course characters are assemblages of words, because literature is such an assembage of words; this tells us absolutely nothing, and is like elaborately informing us that a novel cannot really create an imagined 'world,' because it is just a bound codex of paper pages."

To bring this to cyberpunk, which came up, briefly, last time: yes, cyberpunk is about evoking a mood, and an attempt to make sense of changes the world is going through as a result of emerging technologies. But it evokes this mood, makes sense of this world, through a story populated with characters. Neuromancer might be my favorite book (it's up there in any case)-- Case is one of my favorite characters in literature. He feels "real" to me, even if he's just words-- all of the characters do, even the improbable Peter whatsisname, the embodiment of sheer perversity. Even Wintermute, the AI. These assemblages of words have emotional resonances, their stories play out in my imagination as i read-- I can recall the imaginal dream created in me when I first read Neuromancer (or any book that has moved me); I can quote the climax back to myself and experience that thrill of Case's transcendence. I know characters in fiction aren't real. But they feel real, if they are done well. And yes, we are characters that we invent.

But I don't say to myself (mostly) "I'm not real, I don't really exist, I'm just a symbolic organizing principle." I say, we say, "I feel real. I feel that I exist." That my existence is mediated through symbolic processes of understanding is incredible. That using words, I can be convinced of the emotional reality of an invented character is even more so. Neither phenomenon warrants the smug dismissal of a Gassian postmodernism. Postmodernists didn't figure out that fiction isn't "real." We've always known that. What the emphasis should be (and to be fair, is for more lucid "postmodern" thinkers) is what a fictional character's unreality says about our own, in light of our own construction of ourselves and our world. Maybe that's why Pynchon, for all his brilliance, and the "oh-wow-aha" moments in The Crying of Lot 49 (the only one I've read), leaves me feeling cold and vaguely like some asshole is laughing at me.

in response to thao's comment

"However, I don't think Fitzgerald wrote just to write a story. There's definitely a political message in there. Perhaps you meant he didn't have it in mind to be as politically charged as the reluctant fundamentalist..."

Right, that's exactly what I mean. It would be naive of me to assert that Gatsby (or any novel) does not have a political message. Every novel has some political content, even if it is just a tacit affirmation of the status quo (romance novels are a good example of this-- as would be Erica's trite garbage in TRF)-- but I think there is something distasteful and wrongheaded about a novel that sets out to prove a political point or even, to cite a less-charged example of what bothers me about this sort of thing, to make a particular moral point. A story that was written only to make me feel bad (or good) about stealing would provoke the same reaction from me, maybe with a different level of intensity, but the same instinct to bristle at a sort of violation of art.

Manto - The nipple stories

I remember someone in class naming them that. I enjoyed Manto's stories very much. I didn't question what's with the obsession with nipples, though I should, so now I'm wondering why.

I picked up the book not expecting the stories to go where they went. I've never had this level of exposure in an Asian novel (not that I've read very many), but it was a pleasant surprise. A Lump of Cold Flesh was a good one (I had another version, your translation might be a little different). 

"Ishar Singh smiled in his moustache. "I'll play the tyrant today," he said and started being cruel to her. He chewed her upper lips, bit her earlobe, ......" 

Does someone want to comment on his impotence after attempting to rape the dead girl (unknowingly)? I like these stories for what they are. I'm not very familiar with realist writings....

 

Interesting Quote in Shame

To refer back to my post about gender and shame with the umbilical cord, I would like to refer to a quote from Rushdie’s novel, Shame, that I think is really intense. It says “death's belly, an inverse womb, dark mirror of a birthplace, its purpose is to suck him in… until he hangs foetal in his own waters, with an umbilical cord hung fatally round his neck. He will leave this place only when its mechanisms have done their work, death's baby, travelling down the death canal, and the noose will tighten its grip” (244).
I like the part that says ‘death’s belly is an inverse womb’ because it is saying death’s belly is the opposite of a womb since it creates death, not life. And the part that says death’s belly is a ‘dark mirror of a birthplace’ seems to mean that death is just a darker version of birth. I also thought that this was a really horrific scene to describe about a baby going down the birth canal dead.

Gender and Shame

Throughout Rushdi’s novel, Shame, there are many ties between gender and shame. On page 81, the woman’s ability to create life and give birth is made into something shameful when “an umbilical cord wound itself around a baby's neck and was transformed into a hangman's noose (in which other nooses are prefigured), into the breath-stopping silken rumal of Thug; and an infant came into the world handicapped by the irreversible misfortune of being dead before he was born.” By referring to the umbilical cord as a noose, it makes childbirth seem shameful because of the horrible things that can go wrong with it.

Allegorical confusion in Shame

So in Shame Pakistan is Peccavistan. But Omar Khayyam Shakil is also Pakistan. And he is shamelessness. And a fat degenerate pervert. Rejected by Iskander Harappa, he ends up in Hyder's miltary family, married to the embodiment of shame, Sufiya Zinobia.

Raza Hyder wrestles his soldiers to boost their confidence, when he should be tending to his daughter, the embodiment of shame.

In the end, when Omar and Sufiya meet, it is the meeting of shame and shamelessness, like the annihilation of matter and anti-matter. But Omar is also Pakistan-- is he the shamelessness of the nation? but everyone else is shameless too, everyone but Sufiya...

I was onto something, sometime, but now I'm just confused.

Rushdie, Gatsby, Hamid, Revolution, Art, Propaganda, and my own cranky curmudgeonry

Rushdie's fresh on my mind, as is a nagging irritation I felt while writing my paper about Shame and the controversies surrounding it. One major detractor essentially took Rushdie to task for writing a book that condemned the Pakistani elite and not (as the critic would have it) writing a novel that could be used as a blueprint for revolution. When did novels become responsible for saving the world? I'm deeply uncomfortable with the over-politicization of novels. Certainly Shame is political, but it is also personal. Certainly The Great Gatsby allows for extrapolation of certain conclusions about the America it depicts. But there is a reason that The Great Gatsby is beautiful, a reason that Shame is beautiful (not as beautiful probably), and a reason that The Reluctant Fundamentalist is ugly. Hamid writes with a SPECIFIC, predetermined political agenda. Fitzgerald wrote to write a story. His politics inevitably come through the story, but that's not the same thing as setting out with a political agenda in mind. The Great Gatsby is a great novel that can be read, among other ways, politically. The Reluctant Fundamentalist is a shallow piece of propaganda masquerading as a novel.

Manto Short Stories

Manto was my favorite book out of all the ones we read this semester. I liked how the stories were short and concise, but they all had bigger meanings that connected with partition. I also like the wit, humor, and writing style in all of the stories. I noticed that the protagonists in these stories are always people like prostitutes, mentally insane inmates, criminals, poor people, and beggars. The author makes a connection with people in all walks of life through these stories, and I think that these types of people represent the horribleness that partition brings.

I wonder if I could just respond to you guys' posts

it's just more fun and interesting than what I have to say.

I think it was Katrina who talked about the pathetic fallacy in the prose of sunlight on a broken column. I don't remember what Prof. Shingavi have against the writings of Romantic poets but it made me laugh when he started trashing wordsworth and keats. 

On the work itself I'd have to say I was half of the time frustrated with the protagonist whose rebellion is too passive for me. I already made this comment in my response to Shayda's post. I won't subject people to another reading of the same thing.

Kumkum Dot

As I was reading The Crooked Line, I came across the phrase “kumkum dot” and I didn’t know what it was, so I decided to look it up. It turns out that the kumkum dot is the little red dot that women in Islam sometimes put on their foreheads to signify that they are married. Traditional kumkum is made by grinding up the dried turmeric into a powder. The powder is yellow, but you are supposed to add a few drops of lime to it, which makes it red. Apparently, the kumkum holds a great deal of significance for women in Islam.

The Effect of Family

In The Crooked Line, by Ismat Chughtai, I think it is odd that Shaman is surrounded by plenty of family members as she grows up, but she still experiences a childhood where she is emotionally deprived. How could she never find emotional support in a house full of so many people? I thought that the fact that three or more generations of family lived in one household would be good for family relationships. I think she grew up this way because of the Islamic tradition to focus on the group and not the individual. No one ever noticed what was going on with her because of this. However, she ends up growing up to be a defiant woman in a male dominated society, especially concerning gender roles, so I guess it ended up to be a good thing.

The Portrayal of Delhi

I really like this quote from Twilight in Delhi. “Night envelopes the city, covering it like a blanket. In the dim starlight roofs and houses and by-lanes lie asleep, wrapped in a resltes slumber, breathing heavily as the heat becomes oppressive or shoots through the body like pain.” The language is so beautiful, and I love the dynamic that the sentence creates between Delhi as ‘innocent’ and Delhi as something dark. At first, the sentence gives such a comforting picture of Delhi. I like to think that at this point in the novel, Delhi is portrayed as “innocent” and “untouched” because partition hasn’t happened yet. I think the end of the sentence is foreshadowing what is to come for the city of Delhi.

Keeping History

In his novel, Twilight in Delhi, Ahmed Ali does a great job of recounting the history and culture of Islam. The book recounts the 1857 Mutiny and shows evidence of brutality on both sides. The aristocratic hobby of flying pigeons was very interesting to me. Pigeons seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the novel. The book highlights the rituals of Islamic life in the cities, which are also important to the history and culture of Islam. As a result of partition, the idea of a “new Delhi” came about for the characters in the book. It is helpful to look at how partition affected just one family in order to fully understand what it did to everyone.

Gender Role Reversal

My favorite part of Umrao Jan Ada is when Bismillah is making fun of the old man. I cannot believe that she actually makes him climb a tree just to control him. I believe that this episode was an example of gender role reversal in Islam because Bismillah becomes the one in control, which is usually the man in Islam, and the old man submits to Bismillah’s order to climb the tree, so it is like he is becoming a woman in Islam who always submits to her male counterpart. On another note, it blows my mind that Bismillah would put an old man’s life in danger like this. Is this evidence that courtesans viewed men as objects?

Pan and Hookah

I found it interesting in Ruswa’s Umrao Jan Ada that “pan” constantly showed up time and time again throughout the novel. In the glossary at the back, the book describes pan as “betel-leaf, usually filled with areca nuts, lime, catechu and other ingredients, which is folded into a triangular shape and offered to guests.” And yes, it was true that every time Umrao, or anyone for that matter, encountered a guest, the pan and the hookah were immediately brought out. The hookah is another thing that constantly shows up in the book. Pan and hookah are essential to the social community throughout the book, and in Islamic culture.

Fireworks Aren’t That Big of a Deal

I really like the section in Perfecting Women about fireworks on page 96 because it has some ideas that I think are really outrageous. For example, it is considered sinful to set off a firework because it is waste of money. But when you pay for fireworks, you are paying for the show, so I disagree that it is a waste of money. Another reason is that you could burn yourself or set your house on fire, which is a good reason, obviously. The third reason is that fireworks have writing on them and anything with writing on it deserves respect. Since I don’t personally believe this, this reason was a little out-there for me, but I can see how another culture might believe this.

On "Perfecting Women"

In his book Bihishti Zewar, Thanawi has some rules on how to conduct “miscellaneous matters,” and I think some of the rules can be applied to all humankind because a lot of them generally seem to be good advice for anyone to follow. These are universal aspirations of mankind. My favorite ones from the list (p.188) are “think about whatever you do, consider its outcomes, then do it calmly,” “if someone seeks your advice, give the counsel you consider to be best,” and “check your anger as far as possible” (Thanawi 188). These rules seem similar to some of the instruction in the Bible.

Sunlight on a broken column

i can't help but agree that Leila's rebellion seems a little disingenuous since I had to wait so long for her to act. I don't mean she's putting on airs about wanting to be independent. I did believe she wanted it. However, seeing her male cousin and college friends participating in protests while she remained passive was enraging, though I should be easy on her since the restricted life in which she lived and the constant mental battle between honor/ dishonor prevented her from being resolute or active.

I did like Nandi, who made an excellent point about the servant girls' condition. Her honour was completely dictated by the males, who did both the jeering and leering.

Looking Glass Pakistan

“I’m tempted to name my looking-glass Pakistan …” I think this is a brilliant use of theory definition by Rushdie, though I doubt he would care I thought it was brilliant. However, just the idea of having a country going through the same kind of formation as a person does when creating their self image is amazing. The country sees what others around them are saying about it, the country imagines what judgments will be made based on those sayings, and then it imagines its own self image. I could just imagine a map of Pakistan looking the mirrors of a fun house trying to find it’s self.

Manto part two

To continue on the same theme of my earlier Manto post, what happens to a man’s psyche when women become unveiled? “How could a woman, even an old woman, bare herself in front of him?” In Khushia Manto’s male character becomes quite upset that a woman have the audacity to show herself to him, after all he is just Kushia. Perhaps he is upset because women do not belong exposed in society, but I think it is more than that I think he is upset that he has no power over them. The men of this society have long held power over woman and for them to be able to say things like “It is just Kushia” must have been unnerving for men.

A message from Thanawi spawned from Umrao Jan found in Manto.

“He stood there wondering what had turned the once fashionable Qaiser Gardens into a slum. Where had all the life and excitement gone? It reminded him of a woman who had been scrubbed clean of all her make-up.” This quote from Manto’s The room with the Bright Light reminds me of a quote in Umrao Jan where she discusses that what happens when a girl comes out of purdah is she loses her appeal, her enticing aspect. Here however, instead of the veil of purdah it is the veil of make-up which is an interesting comparison.

“At the Muslim School she learned a little English, which is what young men want now.” Again, it seems like a woman can never be what she wants. Her entire life’s decisions seem to revolve around satisfying what men expect her to be. Women are being sent to school in order to learn how to be fancied by men, how horrible! I wonder if given a real opportunity, in a vacuum of sorts, where no social context imposes on her wishes and desires, what women want. What is it that to them they wish to become? What do Muslim women wish to learn for the sake of learning?

Sunlight on a Broken Column

“Everyday at this theological college where I am taught so-called virtues takes me farther away from God. I tried to believe that humility is a virtue, but forced humility is degradation!” While in The Crooked Line we got a sort of realist teenage angst depictions of Shaman’s education, here we get commentary of how those who were going through the education system Shaman describes felt. This quote adds to the feeling I have began to get from my research that the education system was in a way a bit of subtractive schooling. It took away the cultural capital which you had gained in your family without replacing it with anything that made you viable to those people you associate with.

Putting on a show

I find it really interesting the depiction of the inspector. It reminds me of how schools in modern society are constantly dressing themselves up when government officials come to visit. It makes me think about how test scores and what not are used as measures as to how good a school is, how good an education is, without actually having measured anything real and true. Everything can seem to be “good” but what lurks underneath may be disgusting and full of despair. Shaman herself seems to feel this type of superficial label of good and how it really means nothing, perhaps just like the label of freedom.

Power between men and women in marriage.

“Wife, I’m your slave, open your mouth, the nervous bridegroom was forced to say.” This is a nightmare of a phrase for people like Thanawi. In The Crooked Line Chughtai gives us a small vignette of the preparations and ceremonies of a wedding. Although I am aware that traditions like this one may have not been accepted on the whole by leaders of thinking in society, they were still being done. It seems kind of mean to me in a way to have the husband have to say these things, building up the wife in a way. I wonder if this is some sort of “fifteen minutes of fame” type deal, but instead fifteen minutes of power. While yes, the wives do hold considerable power in the marriage, dealing with affairs, raising the heirs, the husband is never regarded as needing to be nice to the wife, or pay her any respect for that matter. I wonder what this tradition does for the women and the families of the future brides, it clearly in some way excites them, but knowing what is to follow, how can one even giggle at this show?

Colonization as iron chains

A quote that absolutely struck me when I read it was: “Today it was this very Delhi which was being despoiled by a Western race who had no sympathy with India or her sons, thought Mir Nihal. Already they had put the iron chains of slavery round their once unbending necks.”(106) As a Westerner, when you learn about colonization you generally understand that bad comes with good for the culture that is being colonized. However, in our society we generally like to highlight the good, and it is rare, at least in my educational experience, that you get to hear the voices of despair of those being colonized. It struck me even more astounding that the women in this book hated the British as well. They spoke with such disgust about them and my initial reaction was shock because, as a Westerner, I have generally had the idea that women in places like Delhi must be so thrilled with their new opportunities and freedoms. I hadn’t been able to see what those freedoms were actually doing to the personal identity that women already partake in. It throws their whole lives in disarray, on the one hand there is opportunity, on the other it comes at the cost of their families, their faiths, and at times said opportunity may or may not be of real value to them at all.

Twilight in Dehli

In Twilight in Dehli Ali describes the life of Bilqeece, the example of a “normal Indian woman.” She had been constantly told that one day she would have to go away to someone else’s house, and that she must always behave properly. She was taught the arts of cooking and sewing and behaving like ea perfect housewife generally…By education and hearsay she is made to believe that passion is the worst kind of sin”. The discussion of a “proper” education for a woman is a theme that many of the books we have read have taken up. Here Ali is adding commentary to the fact that women are vessels that get taught lessons only in how to behave and cook; passion in a personal sphere is nonexistent. However, this becomes really problematic for Asghar, Bilqeece’s husband, as he yearns for a woman who is cultured, passionate, a bit sultry even. It seems that in history, no matter what a woman is doing, she is always lacking one aspect to be deemed whole, ideal, and good. She is constantly having to become more devout, more learned, a better cook, and a passionately lover, despite the contradictory elements of those traits. A woman just can’t win it seems.

To blame or not to blame, fate. That is the question.

In Umrao Jan Ada Ruswa, in his somewhat pseudo realist novel, depicts for us this quite unbelievable transformation of a courtesan into a devout Muslim woman. Two quotes that really caught my attention in and of the discussion of her transformation were:

“My downfall is attributable to Dilavar Khan’s wickedness. If he had not abducted me and sold me to Khanum, my destiny would not have been fulfilled. Those things, which I have long since repented, I could hardly have understood their true nature at the time. Nor was I aware of any law which might make me refrain from them, or persuade me that I would be punished if I did them.”

Also,

“I have often thought deeply about chance and plan, and have come to the conclusion that people us these terms mistakenly. If the meaning of it is that God knows all about us from the beginning of eternity, it is obvious that the infidel is one who has no belief. But most people—may God forgive them!—attribute the results of wrong-doing to fate, and put all the blame on God. Surely they are the real infidels.”

I find it quite interesting that Umrao Jan not only blames Dilavar Khan for her sinful lifestyle, but also simultaneously blames God himself. God’s plan for her was to become a sinner by fate/Gods plan (though those who attribute their wrong doings to fate are infidels) and it is because Dilavar that her destiny was fulfilled. I question even more how one can truthfully repent their sins when they take no personal blame in then. It seems to me like the backbone of any religious transition, taking blame and repenting.

Shaman's Tranformation

Shaman was a crazy, uncontrollable child. There's absolutely no doubt about that. And she wasn't particularly endearing, either. I think, then, that it's really interesting the way Chughtai takes her through her maturation--her anger and rage becomes controlled. When she is an adolescent, she is still prone to violence, but it is a much more calculated violence; she slaps Rasul Fatima once, when she is offended by her; she beats her cousin Noori to keep her tongue in check. And the older Shaman gets, the more shy, especially when confronted with men, she becomes. Eventually, Shaman is a poised, quiet woman, and this progression is so natural, so subtle, that once I realized she had become something totally different, I had to go back and see if what I read of her childhood was what I remembered. I thought this evolution was masterful.

Shaman's Obsessions

I was really intrigued by the way Shaman had all these passionate emotional connections with the girls that she went to school with. I thought that although it seemed a bit far-fetched at times, I can remember idolizing and wishing I were friends with some of the girls I went to school with. I remember wanting to be pretty like them, or wear my hair the way they did, or smell like delicate, crushed flowers the way they did. I can see how this adoration could lead to quasi-romantic infatuation if the girls were stifled sexually--it seems natural that, if it's not seen or explained, girls who would have a preference for men find themselves feeling those stirrings and conferring them onto other girls, the objects of their adoration. (This is also a very interesting psychological concept that Chughtai--wittingly or unwittingly--employs.)

Umrao Jan and Pre-Colonialism

As the semester progressed, we were taken by our novels further and further from this time, or memory of a time, before colonialism. I wanted to reflect on the ways Umrao Jan served as a sort of living vessel of what the post-colonial era had done away with. I think it's very poetic, that she seems such a tragic figure; although she enjoyed, to an extent, her life as a courtesan, she was taken violently from her family and forced into this life. In her "imprisonment", she learned all the arts of a dying culture, including poetry, which I find is an extremely powerful medium (when used to taste, I should say). I think I fixated on her learning poetry because it reminded me a lot of what I think of when I think of the arts, the great renaissances and times of learning across the globe, and high culture. It also, as I've mention, reminds me of Sufism and spirituality. Umrao Jan's ability to learn and create such poetry imbibed a bit of spirituality in her--to me--that she denied she had before giving up her ways to become a devout Muslim.

Sufism

I was interested to see that there wasn't a lot of mention of Sufism in these texts (nor about Persian, which is the main language in which the Sufis wrote). I thought that was intriguing, because much of what "educated" Westerners know about Islam is that their Sufist poets were wonderful and widely read. I'm probably getting the exact specificities of this incorrect, but I believe that Rumi is the most widely read poet in translation in English. Something like that. Anyway, I think it's an interesting notion and interesting absence in the works that we've read, although when I think about it, the characters in these novels have been either middle or upper class people, very grounded in the solid world. Sufism isn't for laymen and the wealthy, and I think that plays a part in its exclusion. However, I would have been interested to see some of that ascetic flavor in one or two of the works we read.

Muslim Literature

Can this literature separate the breech between the United States and Muslim countries of the world? I think it has remarkable universal appeal. I, personally, was blown away by The Crooked Line. I also think it had a nice amount of fusion and tentative understanding within the different religious communities Shaman came into contact with. Her marriage to an Irishman seems to fall apart near the end, but these bonds that she's formed with him stay, like ghosts, in the back of her mind. She is also, it is hinted, pregnant.

First of all, let me say that I think Ismat Chughtai is a woman after my own heart, and is more concerned about people and characters rather than sending out messages. (This is all purely speculation, but I like to think I could be right.) But of course, if we want to read this pregnancy as something more than a biological phenomenon, we can read it as a partnership, a bond, and a future for the fusion and birth of a relationship between these two different cultures. Yeah, that reading is a little in-your-face, but I like it.

What Does The Reluctant Fundamentalist Tell Us?

I wish there had been a bigger moment of insight for the reader, but maybe that's asking too much, and asking for the integrity of the story to be compromised. I like, of course, that Changez isn't a militant, crazy person intent on destroying countries, but I also wanted to hear more about why he'd decided he was disenchanted and consequently disgusted by America. I wanted to feel like he was justified in what he believed at the end of his narrative, but I couldn't believe him. That's not to say I would have thought that he was right, but as it was, I just felt like he'd basically been beaten by The Man and he was feeling down about himself. I think I took his turn of sentiment sort of personally, though, because I've got Muslim relatives and ties to the Middle East and Muslim world, and I'm not sitting in classrooms denouncing my country. I guess that's the difference, though; it's my country, and it wasn't Changez's. But his story is one remarkably like my dad's--leaving his whole family behind, coming to go to school, facing discrimination, staying, falling in love. My dad's relationship with an American girl went much better, of course. Marriage, two adorable children. Citizenship. This is my dad's country.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is this: Why couldn't it have been Changez's, too?

Heavenly Ornaments

I have a friend who is from India and studying at UT for a year. She's told me about herself, and that she's Hindu, and about some of the holidays Hindus observe, and they really do sound a lot like those things that the book is berating Muslims for doing. I think it's really encouraging, though, that there's been a cultural fusion among Indian Muslims and Hindus. I hope they use these little similarities to grow a bit closer to one another, particularly considering the political climate between largely Muslim Pakistan and largely Hindu India. It makes me wonder if Heavenly Ornaments had any role in engendering the present hatred that lies between these people.

So What About That Guy?

I've seriously been deeply concerned about the American man whom Changez speaks with--or rather, I'm concerned about why he's putting up with all this. I'm not concerned about the length of the monologue--I can pretend that it only lasts for a few hours instead of half a day or more. But I don't understand why:

1) If Changez isn't setting him up, why in the world does he strike up a conversation with this guy? Also, why does this man sit and listen? Yeah, it's an engaging story, but he's clearly uncomfortable and it's getting late.

2) If Changez is setting him up, fine. I get that. But like I said--the guy's uncomfortable and appears to really have a gun, regardless, so you'd think he'd be a bit more cautious, especially when people start filing out of the restaurant and the street starts to empty. If he has a gun and this macho bearing and worldly know-how, he should know to leave sooner.

I don't know. That part of the premise really bothered me, but I think I'm the only one who's bothered.

Attachment Disorders in The Crooked Line

While I was reading The Crooked Line, I was really surprised to see how many Freudian and modern psychological disorders Shaman manifested. It made me wonder how learned Chughtai was in the subject and if she intended to be so precise about her portrayal of these, if indeed portray them at all. Shaman clearly has some form of "ambivalent attachment" to her family; she both wants their praise and wants nothing to do with them, simultaneously. She also, by having been weaned too early, it seems, develops insecure attachments (where she screams and cries when these people with which she is attached leave for any stretch of time), first with Unna, then with her sister Manjhu. Attachments also play an important role later in the novel, particularly at school, in which she has passionate friendships that tend to end abruptly, either by familial devices or by the simple geography of moving.

Narrative Voices

I thought it would be interesting to point out the narrative voices used in some of our readings for this semester. Of course, The Reluctant Fundamentalist stands out as an obviously stylistic and contrived choice--not only is it in first person, but it is actively so, almost folkloric. It serves to truly--in my opinion--engage the reader (unless you're really bugged by the use of the second person). Also interesting to note was the narration in The Crooked Line. I notice, as I go back to pick up some noteworthy lines for my paper, that although it's written in third person, there is an undeniable presence of Shaman's inner voice. It sort of reminds me of Alice Munro's third person narratives; if you asked me what person they were written in, I couldn't tell you for certain, because the third person narrator is so close to the main character, it feels like first person. I think Chughtai's narration allowed us both this close association with Shaman and the luxury of a lyrical/poetic voice when we're not looking right at her.

Jim

Jim seemed as though he had a position that, like Erica's, transcended Changez's later view of America. I thought Changez's treatment of Jim's character in his narrative was intriguing; I wanted to know who Jim truly was to him. Changez sets Jim apart from the rest of the crew at Underwood Sampson and seems to align Jim with himself, even though Jim is one of the most important people at the company. I still haven't managed to drag too much meaning out of his treatment of Jim, but I'd be interested to go back and do a more careful reading/study of Jim's persona and Changez's narrative language towards him.

Wildness as an Act of Preservation?

In researching my paper, I'm coming to glean some meaning from the seemingly crazy antics of Shaman (The Crooked Line) and Bertha/Antoinette (Jane Eyre/Wide Sargasso Sea). Shaman and Bertha are both described at some point as being wild, like animals. I postulate that as they have no other ways to transgress from their fates, they turn within themselves and become wild in order to avoid having the restraints of human construction thrown onto them. For example, when Manjhu moves into her husband's home, no one bothers to take responsibility for Shaman. She is wild to begin with, and after Manjhu leaves, she is neglected to such an extent that she becomes completely matted in grime and filth. She eats dirt and plays in the mud and refuses to be comforted by the humans around her, thus alienating herself from them and their customs. Bertha, thrown into marriage by her father (and against her wishes by her step-father in Rhys's version), can see no way out of the marriage. In Rhys's novel, Rochester even strips Antoinette of her rightful name, instead calling her Bertha. She goes mad trying to remember herself and she attacks her oppressors like an animal to keep them from compromising her sense of self.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist--Allegory and Realism

Though I know this novel has a lot of symbolic and allegorical tilts, I always like to read beyond the allegorical. I think straight allegories are too contrived to be decent literature. I was glad that I could find a lot of the mundane, human aspects of the novel enjoyable and realistic. I did think Erica's perpetually wounded soul was a bit gratuitous, but I read it as the character's fault, so I appreciated it. I also liked the fact that Changez, though distinctly anti-American outside of the frame of his narrative, was still halfway holding out for Erica. Her nationality and the things which she stood for transcended his disgust of America, and it served to show he was not so strictly anti-American as he himself thought.

In response to Diana's post on the target audience of "The Reluctant Fundamentalist"

Perhaps Mohsin chose to focus on America because of the role America has played on the world stage since 9/11. I'm not incredibly well-versed in international politics, but America has been following its own agenda in direct opposition to the UN for quite some time now, and that seems to be the main thrust of the symbolism behind Erica and her writing. To clarify, Erica disregards Changez, doesn't even mention him in her work, and instead chooses to focus on the craft of writing itself by creating detailed portraits of crayfish and leaves. Her motives are self-centered; her writing is an outlet to improve her abilities as a writer, not an attempt to cope with the loss of Chris. To illustrate the symbolic parallel that I think Hamid is making, America (Erica) has used 9/11 (Chris' death) and the guise of a "war on terror" (writing as a way to cope with the pain of losing Chris) to pursue other political agendas abroad (crayfish and leaves). America (Erica) simultaneously entertains and disregards countries like Pakistan (Changez) that can serve its (her) political (emotional) needs, all the while using 9/11 (Chris' death) as a justification for unjust behavior.

Chugthai's portrayal of Shaman paints a bleak picture of independent thinkers...

Shaman's character in "The Crooked Line" is atypical from the start: she was a disobedient, filthy child that grew into a progressive professional, an educated woman that eventually marries an Irish man, seemingly for the sake of defying social norms. As a result of her less than ideal behavior, and I use "ideal" in the sense of an idealized Muslim woman, we see a variety of negative consequences that culminate primarily into one resounding theme: loneliness. Why should Chugthai choose to portray her empowered female protagonist as ultimately unhappy and alone? Perhaps the answer lies in the harsh reality that there simply aren't many opportunities for independent women to be happy in a society that has come to expect little more from women than obedience and childbearing. Nevertheless, Shaman shows disdain for the mindless procreation of her siblings and in-laws, giving readers the impression that the idealized can also be less-than ideal.

Changez vs Jim

I found it interesting that Changez and Jim's histories are so similar, yet Changez fails where Jim succeeds (at least that's one way of looking at it). Perhaps by focusing on the wounded Erica, both as a romantic interest and a symbol of America's self-concerned worldview, Changez forgets to focus on the fundamentals of his job. On a strictly character/plot level, Erica distracts Changez from his work, thus making him a less efficient employee by causing him to lose focus. Symbolically, Erica helps Changez see that if he were to fully assimilate into American culture he would be disregarding the emotions and desires of other individuals, i.e. Third World countries, that are deemed unimportant by the U.S. Changez' own feelings resulting from Erica's rejection help him realize that he does not want to have such an impact on people's lives, and this influences his decision to leave Underwood Samson even though he knows that he will be replaced. The point is that Changez, even with the knowledge that his work will not be left unfinished at Underwood Samson, chooses to take a different path in life, and perhaps by writing "The Reluctant Fundamentalist," Hosin is encouraging readers to do the same.

Just a comment - Changez' intimate episode with Erica reads like it was written by a man. There's an suggestions that her "shudder" means that she either needed, wanted, or benefited from the experience. I think the fact that her orgasm is even mentioned here reads like it was written with a certain insensitivity to women. Benefit or desire should really be written as emotional benefit or emotional desire rather than physical.

Erica - America

I find the relation between Changez and Erica to be a lot like Changez’s relationship to America. He was only able to make love with Erica if he pretended to be someone he was not, and as for America is he acted like a typical American he found what he considered as home. It was once he started losing Erica, because she wanted that someone he pretended to be for her, that he started to act more like his self and then he began to feel rejected by America because of who he is. Erica symbolizes the America that he cannot have unless he pretends to be who he is not.

I was thinking about how Shame speaks to the imperatives of history writing, and how we, as in our class, really came to two different conclusions about Rushdie's writing of history. On the one hand, I feel like he's made a general statement about history--that it only exists within the artifact and that any attempt to write it is necessarily falsely constructed. On the other hand, he's also made a more specific statement about Pakistani history--that it needs to be told in whispered rumors in this subversion, behind-the-scenes kind of way. These two "hands" are not mutually exclusive and actually feed into each other quite well. If any attempt at writing history is falsely constructed (thus destroying any possibility of a true history), then anybody who chooses to write history must write with a specific interpretation in mind (truth having been taken out of the picture).

So I think the "american" to which the narrative of The Reluctant Fundamentalist is addressed poses some interesting questions. For one, if we, as an audience, are to assume that we are this man, what can we assume about Mohsin's intended audience for this novel? The first question that comes into mind for me is Mohsin's nationality. I could buy that he'd be writing for an American audience if he were American, but he's not. He's British. Clearly, he's not writing for a solely British audience. I think that generally, he's writing to 1st world, white countries. But then, why America? Why an American? My initial thought is that perhaps he considers America to be the best representation of the privileged, white world, but then why not make it more general? Why choose to focus so closely on 9/11?

I think this might point to a broader, more global reality that shifted when the twin towers fell that I (maybe) can't appreciate because the event is too close to home.

Sufiya Zinobia

Sufiya Zinobia is where all the family’s shame is projected onto, and in a way that is what held the family together. While she is there within the family’s presence, those around her did not show shame for what they did, and how they acted. But once she left the home and became free of her family and the shame that they put upon her, they all begin to fall apart, lose their sanity, hallucinate, hear people that are dead, commit suicide, and so on. It is as if Sufiya Zinobia’s shame is what held the family together, because once she escaped (as the beast) the family began to crumble and die.

In response to Ajai's response to my response (Diana's), oh wow...I just got a little lost.

In any case, I wish that I could find another reason for Reza's second introduction because the form of the novel seems more interesting? more complex? more intellectual rather than emotional? Is there such a disconnect between the two? I have this feeling that I'd like there to be a more rousing reason for the second introduction than the emotional urgency that I see in it now (any takers?), but I got thinking today in class talking (again) about Reza and Rushdie in conjuction and the way their narrative interjections both seem to have a sense of urgency (what kind, I have difficulty pinpointing), but I wonder (I promise I'll end this sentence) if it has anything to do with the way that they're writing history in this fictional way, or if it has to do with the fact that they are writing, essentially, their own history and what that means for how they think history should be written, the responsibilities that writers have to history and fiction or history rather than fiction or fiction rather than history.

Sorry for posting this rambling list of questions.

Comparisons

I find it interesting that the two daughters born into one family are so opposite. One daughter represents shame while the other daughter represents the lack of shame. I was wondering about Omar’s family, and how he represents the lack of shame, and would that make his brother become the representative shame? Another interesting fact is that Omar was named after a poet, and was not poetic, but his brother, who was not named after a poet, is the one who made attempts at being poetic. Rushdie appears to purposefully make these drastically opposing comparisons between relatives, and I wonder what is his ultimate reason for these comparisons?

Sharam

In response to Diane (I think) about the interjections in Reza and Rushdie, I agree that in Rushdie the interjections serve to enhance my engagement with the book, because the authorial voice adds to rather than diminishing the effect. The voice and the story are inseparable, to the point that any attempt to imagine the same story without the authorial presence will be incoherent.

In Reza though, I'm not sure it works the same way. I'm not saying it doesn't, by the way, I actually don't think I can comment in fairness because I did not read the entire novel up to that point. But from what I did read the author's voice wasn't intertwined with the story the way it is in Shame. If it had that effect for you, though, perhaps that's the "point," for lack of a better way to put it.

Omar the Poet

In the beginning of Rushdie's Shame it is mentioned that none of the three women, his three mothers is ever formally educated in any way. I wonder then how Omar became a poet and how the three women could appreciate his writing. Perhaps this is something that gets fleshed out further in the novel, as I haven't gotten too too far into it, it was just something I noticed. The book even claims that Omar was subjected to the same kind of seclusion his mothers were, so it even further peaks my interest on the topic.

Bertha Narratives

Yeah, I know we're way past The Crooked Line, but I'm still really struck by the similarities between Shaman and Bertha Rochester (of Jane Eyre notoriety). From her seemingly insane antics as a child, to her antagonism with her husband, Shaman is encompassed by the "Bertha narrative" much more thoroughly than Jane's, to which she professes a connection. Yet she's still tinged with shades of Jane; an unwanted child, foisted onto schools and boarding houses. The girls with which she forms attachments are different evocations of Helen for Shaman, and they go in and out of her life just as quickly. I'm of the opinion that Shaman's story is the merging of both the Bertha and Jane narratives, this strange amalgamation of submission and frustrated rage. Shaman is largely ineffectual and crippled because of these conflicting psyches within herself. I have a theory that at their foundations, the Bertha and Jane narratives are one in the same, yet have twisted away from each other as they've grown.

Jumping back quickly to a Village Divided and the second introduction, or even the matter of the first introduction...I do agree to an extent with Ajai's disapproval. Would the book have been just as effective without the second introduction. I do think so, but would it have been quite so personal? I don't know. I had a strange reaction after reading the introduction, and surely the text following lended itself to this effect, but I felt each character so much more deeply and personally. Suddenly, I realized that I cared about these people who I had been given so much reason to despise because the author had given me his reason to care. There was something about this very open and very unnecessary (structurally but perhaps necessary personally) second introduction that made the writing and reading of this book feel so deeply important.

Reading Shame now, I feel the same way about Rushdie's interjections.

1 April

In present day the first of April is also known as April Fool’s Day, and in Monto’s short story “The New Constitution,” the main character Mangu made a fool out of himself. He overheard parts of conversations which lead him to truly believe that there was going to be a new constitution, and that it was going to be in favor of India and its freedom. Mangu beat up "the gora" thinking that he was the foolish one, but in reality he, Mangu, was the fool because there was not a "new constitution" that he was so excited about. April Fool’s Day has existed since the late 1500s. So is it a coincidence that Manto makes Mangu a fool on April Fool’s Day?

"What is a country?"

I have constantly heard professors say that if you have a question you should ask it because most likely there are others in the class with the same question, and it makes me wonder how many other people had the same question Sitara did. Sitara asked her sister, Sarwari, “What is a country,” in complete sincerity because she did not know what made a country a country. And Sarwari realized that she did not know the answer either, and she only knew some of the things that would come out of the new country, “the advantages which Muslims would get.” So if Sitara did not know, Sarwari did not know, and Abbas also did not answer Sitara’s question, how many other people were fighting for a country and did not know what a country is?

In A Village Divided by Rahi Masoom Reza the people of the village represent a smaller and somewhat parallel version of what is happening between the countries of India and Pakistan. The people of the north end, Uttar Patti, were constantly competing and fighting with the people of the south end, Dakkhin Patti to prove that they were better than the other side. The village’s life is very similar to the people of India and Pakistan who were fighting each other because of their religious differences. The people of the village were competing to prove that their end is better than the other’s end, but the fight between the countries was about the differences between their religions rather than who is better than whom because of what they have.

In the story "Sunlight on a Broken Column" the main character Laila lived in an extremely controlled environment. She even shows a bit of sympathy towards the house workers and the few slaves they have, because she feels that her life is being controlled just like theirs is being controlled. She does not get to make hew own personal life choices. Her aunts and uncles who she lives with make Laila’s life decisions for her. Laila’s Uncle Mohsin is ready to marry her off so he will no longer have to worry about her, but her Aunt Abida disagrees and claims that Laila is not old enough and wise enough to chose her own husband. This is all being discussed right in front of her, but yet she still gets no say as to what happens in her own life.

In Chughai’s The Crooked Line the main character, Shaman, pretty much just goes with the flow of life. She does not appear to ever really try and make things better in her own personal life. Shaman does do what she can to help the school she was headmistress of become a little better at least for a short while, but it did not do anything to benefit her personally. She took the job as the headmistress because of the hard times of the economy, and it seemed like it was all there was left to do. So it makes me wonder if there was not an opening as a headmistress, what else would she have ended up doing for work?

A book divided

Introduction number two strikes me with a heavy hand. I feel that the author is reaching through the book, taking hold of my collar, and trying to shake into me an understanding that I can't achieve, because I am not him. It is artless, melodramatic, and ineffective.

"There are thousands of 'becauses' like it, and no sword is sharp enough to cut this 'because.'" This introduction seems to be one of these-- it is here just 'because,' because of the enormity of the undertaking that is this novel, because the reader must know that the author is taking a stand, proclaiming his identity, staking his claim to his vision of the past, his memory of place. I think I get what he is attempting. I don't think it works.

A Village Divided

I'd be curious to hear if anyone had thoughts about the introduction that appears 2/3rds of the way into the novel. Of course, it's the division in the novel that marks the division of India and Pakistan, but formally it's interesting, since the novel already had one introduction (which is presumably composed after partition as well). On the one hand, the novel has to find some way of marking time and change, but on the other hand, it seems a little too obvious to me. I'd love to hear what others thought about it.

Also, I think it's pretty interesting in a novel like this that you don't really have individual characters which you can focus in on. The first chapter is probably the only time that you have a situation where you have a single focal point, but that seems to be colored by the fact that its also a kind of innocent fantasy about the past that's designed to set up the decline of tradition and family over the course of the novel. Did anyone else get the sense that the multiple character method was in some ways related to the fragmentation of village life, the collapse of the extended family, the migration of important figures to Pakistan, etc?

It'd be interesting to consider for a moment exactly why free choice in a marriage partner is so upsetting to the social order. We have the problem posed in Sunlight on a Broken Column, which is a sullying of social position and familial/royal blood. There is also the matter of thwarting the authority of elders, but consider for a moment the tremendous exchange of wealth that accompanies the marrying off of a woman and the subsequent idea that marriage resembles more closely an economic exchange than a union of two people. I think that it is only at this point that we can begin to understand how free choice in a marriage partner can be a feminist issue rather than just an issue of the freedom that the young have in their choices. Remember that Asghar in Twilight in Delhi faces the same issue as Laila does in Sunlight.... When a woman chooses her marriage partner based on love and not on social position or power, she ceases to be a bargaining chip or an object.

Another interesting thing to consider is how much this development in feminism is in response to the British occupation.

models of free femininity

It's interesting that in Sunlight, Laila's deepest rebellion is her convictions about what love is and is not. Because it upsets the social order so much and bears on issues of sexuality, perhaps its inevitable that love is the central question to a female protagonists identity in this context. Laila educates herself but this never seems to be enough. In Thanawi's ideal, Laila would educate herself thoroughly (and no one would interfere or mock her for learning), but as a trade-off, she would submit to whatever marriage choice was deemed acceptable by her elders. Could she be happy that way? There are no models presented in the book for this sort of fulfilled yet submissive female, perhaps because that is counter to Hosain's arguments. I guess the question I'm asking is if the freedom of women is by definition irreconcialable with Thanawi's ideal social order. Probably so. I don't know.

Saira's Soul-Sucking Social Maneuvers

What do you guys think about Aunt Saira's attitude towards love throughout Hosain's "Sunlight"? As a matter of fact, her value system seems incredibly harsh to me. Consider page 134 when Laila is defending the girl at her school to Saira and her peers: "The word 'love' was like a bomb thrown at them." I found this to be particularly striking considering that the girls getting married in our other novels all seem to have had romantic fantasies about love - at least before their marriage. These women completely lack the sentimentality of women who are younger and/or of a lower class. It would seem that this tenderness has been rendered obsolete by the devising, political motives of Saira's desire for wealth and power. Yet, despite Saira's obvious propensity for power and influence, she shows her limited knowledge of world affairs on page 178 when she confuses Saleem's "I am no Lenin and can establish no Soviets" with "Linen serviettes," a clear indication that Saira thinks more about cloth and servants than the lives of people outside of her immediate social sphere. Her ideas about love resurface on page 180 as Saleem recounts his response to Saira asking him to marry Laila, "Mother, I don't love the girl." Saira immediately reacts "in a very superior, shocked manner, eyebrows lifted, nostrils quivering, 'Love? No one in decent families talks of love'." I think that Saira represents a very specific model of ideal womanhood: that of the aspiring, socially prominent, upper-class housewife. Perhaps Hosain is using Saira to demonstrate the hollow depravity of a life without love for other humans, when marriages are arranged according to proper breeding, guest lists are calculated, friendships are circumstantial, and children are born merely for the sake of maintaining a progeny to manage your estate when you die.

Considering Shaman's role in the education system of India gives me a whole new perspective on fatalism. Here we have an example of a person who sees the flaws of the system in which she is acting, while at the same time recognizing that her actions can accomplish little to nothing. This puts the role of the individual in stark contrast with the powers of society or the forces of the universe. Consider the inspector's visit to Shaman's school. If Shaman is incapable of changing the school, she at least has hope that a higher power - in the form of the state inspector - will fix the problem. Chughtai even draws a comparison between the Inspector and a force of nature; I believe the analogy was something along the lines of 'at least a hurricane sweeps away all the debris.' In this sense, Shaman's fatalistic attitude differs from that of Mir Nihal in the sense that she shows an active concern but can do nothing, whereas Mir Nihal becomes resigned to the idea that the world is in a younger generations hands. I can only wonder how Shaman's character would feel about the world at the end of her life.

gender induction

I have not yet finished the book. I intend to this weekend.

One thing I want to say about the book, and this is the early childhood and adolescent part, is whether or not Chunghtai believed that gender is conditioned by societal customs rather than genetically programmed. Females are inducted into womanhood through training and adhering to conventions of womanhood and males, perhaps the same way?

So what are the implications for portraying Shaman as an anomaly? a sort of wild child who resists the conventions? 

I thought about her thinking that women give birth to snakes and her reaction to children's deaths. Maybe they are connected, may be not. I have to look into this when I finished the novel.

images of ghandi

one of the most striking things i've seen in the novels that we've read is the portrayl of ghandi within islamic litterature. in "twilight in dehli" mir nehal scoffs at the new ranks of men who follow the path of disruption, recalling images of those men that threw themselves on their foes with no thought to safety but only wishing to die fighting. in this same vein chugti's shaman reflects on the people making Ghandi into more than a man, those people that choose to worship him as some type of diety. from a westerners perspective this is striking because [while i'm no scholar of ghandi's life] we are tought that he was one of the most influential leaders in the last century. "TIME" even debated wether the man of the century should be Ghandi or Hitler, as the man that was most influential throughout the last hundred years. while obviously the people of india were behind him it seems those that wrote about these times [many english taught, as ghandi himself was] have an underlying problem with his methods, or at least the blind following he received from those following him. i'm just curious as to why this is.

It's my personal opinion that Chugthai is writing for an India struggling for a national identity and possibly independence. I don't think that she meant this only for academics who are going to delve into specific analysis of her intentions, nor do I think she meant this exclusively for a female India. We've discussed in class the importance of women to the national cause, to independence and to parity in the world's eye (the European and consequently Indian world), and Chugthai mentions this too and talks about the clumsy use of women in the matter of national liberation.

I think that clumsy is the operative word here, and that this novel operates clumsily (intentionally) on two separate issues: the woman issue and the national issue. There is no set pattern for Shaman's education just as there is no set pattern in moving towards a freer, more progressive India, just a series of gropings.

In the end, when Shaman marries Ronnie, it's a combination of both issues. Shaman finds (or as it appears) an end to the wanderings of her educated life, and the two find a way to be progressive, but nothing goes as planned, everything is wrong and feels accidental.

Entertainment/Aesthetic Value vs Message

With its repetitive, grinding, anti-bildungsroman narrative, The Crooked Line raises the question of the extent to which pleasure or entertainment are or should be the motives behind literature.  The book is at times painful to read, sometimes in a very passionate and compelling way, but more often in the "okay, I get it, you're in love with yet another older boy or girl, you're going to be crushed, you have overwhelming emotions" frustrating way.  The Crooked Line has clearly garnered critical praise and academic study, as it doubtless deserves, but all this raises the question: is Chughtai writing for academics, knowing that an audience of reflective critics will tease apart her motives and arguments, or writing for a wider audience?

Education?

I have been wondering about the author's motive when looking at what has been written and where it happens. Well, first off I wonder why it is that Shaman's parents send her off to the school that they do, a very un-strict school in terms of Muslim religion, in the first place. Perhaps this is a consequence of the time and finding an all girls Muslim school is impossible, or was it just the way it was written. I wonder, and perhaps this is just obvious, had Shaman been sent to a very strict Muslim school would she have had all of these feelings? Could Chughtai have written the book in this way? Is it because she was given all this leeway in her place of education that she formed these thoughts? I have also been wondering how Chughtai got away with putting this book into print, after being tried for "The Quilt". This book is much more direct when dealing with the issues similar in "The Quilt". I don't think that if the setting was changed Chughtai would have gotten away with putting this book out there without a lot of backlash, perhaps there was some though, I guess that is something to research.

Quilt = Purdah

The quilt is strongly symbolic of purdah and homosexuality in the story, “The Quilt.” The quilt represents a veil to prevent people from seeing the homosexuality that exists in the community. Observing purdah is to block a woman from public view, similar to how the quilt prevented the narrator from seeing what was going on under the quilt. Bejum Jan and Rabbo’s homosexual relationship is the woman who is observing purdah, the veil is the quilt, and the public view is the narrator. But it is not only the narrator that is being blocked from this view, the rest of the workers in the house are being blocked from it too, more so than the narrator. The other workers have knowledge of the homosexuality going on and the narrator gets a glimpse of it in the end but neither will say anything about it. Here homosexuality is to remain in purdah and to never enter public view, even though it is known to exist.

Political/Social motivations for the narrative style of "The Quilt"

Isn't it interesting that Chughtai chooses to write "The Quilt" from a child's perspective? It's almost as though she knew that her story would cause controversy and designed the narrative to hold up against conservative criticisms. It seems clear that Chughtai knew precisely what she was describing in the story - what else would have motivated her to write it in the first place? She must have had so much fun formulating creative ways to depict lesbian sexuality, especially under the guise of a sexually innocent child. Assuming that Chughtai deliberately wrote in this manner to avoid censorship, we must realize that by writing "The Quilt" she is showing her contemporaries in society that homosexuals exist, that their voices are often stifled, and their preferences hidden. Whether Chughtai is a homosexual daring to share her perspective with a biased society, an ally of homosexuals, or just a creative author, she shows bravery and boldness through the publication of this short story.

Pigeons

It is interesting to read about how Mir Nihal cared for his pigeons, when here in the United States they are thought of as filthy, disease carrying birds. Some people have gone so far as to calling them sky rats. But for Mir Nihal they are his prize possession and a sign of having a higher-ranking status in Delhi. An interesting fact about pigeons is that they are one of the most intelligent species of birds in the world. The drastic differences of how these birds are treated in different countries are amazing. For one country they are a sign of being well-off but on the other side of the world they are seen as something to avoid out of fear of a disease it might carry.

Bilqueece and Asghar

I'm not trying to defend Asghar's conduct towards Bilqueece; he did marry someone he loves and had no excuse for cheating on her while she was alive and lusting after her sister after her death.

Nevertheless, I can't see that he has ever been given the chance to properly fall in love with anyone. With his courtesan there was romance and flirting and no sex, with Bilqueece there was sex but no romance. It is as if he is happy for the few fleeting moments in the beginning where the notion of love and of being in love filled up all the hours of his thoughts and dreams (Mehro was the same, dreaming dreams of handsome princes and then was married off to someone opposite), then came expectations and disappointments. I think it's fair if you say he's completely self-centered for whining for his misfortunes, I think the fact of being the youngest and never having to love anyone until Bilqueece makes Asghar egocentric.

Bilqueece's education made her a "simple Indian girl, and did not know the ways of love...." (p. 186). Even her love for Asghar is not a completely a romantic love, rather, it's a combination of or something between love and worship of a higher being. I sympathize with her, Asghar, and the others who were simply denied a natural progression of love. Instead, they were sexually repressed and then made to enter into something they never completely understood and had to learn of their disappointments when it's too late.

I've been thinking a lot about two things: Ahmed Ali's curious position with which he "uses the oppressor's tongue to attack the oppressor" (I'm quoting Ajai) and the shocking ratio of British soldiers to Indian subjects during the time of British rule. It brings to mind (the later not the former) the practice of staking elephants. If you want to keep an elephant calf in place, you've got to tie it to a stake driven deep into the ground, but after a lifetime of staking, grown elephants can be kept in place by a stake tapped gently into the ground. This process of subjugation is entirely psychological. So how do you induce a nation to overthrow its mental fetters?

I think there is this idea that there needs to be an equalizing element to all this, that the British and the Indians alike need to be convinced that they're all brothers, all the same, all capable of the same things. For me, this implies a convergence of thought that doesn't ring wholly true. I don't doubt that there are elements of this at play, but I also want to explore the idea that a break from British rule requires a divergence of thought. The problem is that the Home Rule movement (as was pointed out in class) was born from people with foreign education, which, if Ahmed Ali is taken as an example, can instigate a straddling of sympathies and an assimilation, however mild, of western thoughts and opinions. I'm not sure how to reconcile these diverging and converging elements.

paper proposal

I'm thinking of doing something on indians used by the british in their wartime exploits, but aside from that general idea i'm really at a loss. it sounded like an interesting subject when we were talking about it but i don't really know where to go with a topic that broad. the idea of a people taken over and used as fodder in wars that in no way affected them is a hugely tragic idea that, truthfully i was completely unaware had happened on such a large scale. i guess if you have any ideas for a more concrete direction to lead my research just hit a dude up. thanks, zach

Words as weapons

Thinking more about the curious puzzle at the heart of Twilight in Delhi, the authorial presence as educated, arguably haughty observer of his people.  It occurs to me that in addition to using the oppressor's tongue to attack the oppressor, Ali's narrator persona serves to buck the homogenization we've talked about in class.  Maybe I'm belaboring the same point, but maybe there's a distinction.  The British came and looked on the entire country as one big mass of uncultivated dark people; Ali's voice comes from an emerging perspective, the deeply ambiguous and puzzling plight of the displaced but (relatively) well-off Indian living in Western civilization.

If you would like to see your final paper in print ...

The Columbia Undergraduate Journal of South Asian Studies is looking for submissions for its Fall 2009 issue!

The Columbia Undergraduate Journal of South Asian Studies (CUJSAS) is a web-only academic journal based out of Columbia University. The journal is a space for undergraduates to publish their original research on South Asia (Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka) from both the social sciences and humanities. As such, CUJSAS is multi-disciplinary, which primarily reflects the movement of the field of South Asian studies to avoid notions of academic provincialism.

CUJSAS is currently accepting submissions for its inaugural issue. We accept theses, research papers, seminar papers, and essays relating to the study of South Asia from both the humanities and social sciences. However, it is preferred that papers that solely deal with quantitative analysis are not submitted. The term "South Asia" refers to the historical areas of: Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. There is no "ideal" page range, though generally submissions between 15 and 40 pages are preferred. Your submission will not be disqualified if it is under 15 or over 40 pages.

The deadline for submissions is October 1st, 2009.

More information can be found at: http://cujsas.blogspot.com

We look forward to hearing from you!

The poetry of a fallen Delhi

Khwaja Altaf Husain "Hali" penned this poem after the 1857 Mutiny. The translation is taken from Narayani Gupta, Delhi Between Two Empires (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981) xviii. There is a specific genre for poetry in Farsi and Urdu which describes the sacking of a city called the "shehrashob":

Hearken to me, do not go into the ruins of Delhi.
At every step, priceless pearls lie buried beneath the dust,
No place in the world is so rich with hidden treasure.
Even the traces of what reminded us of the city’s destruction are gone,
Dear Heaven, can there be greater oblivion than that?
Those are gone have forgotten us. We too have ceased to think of them.
Times have changed as they can never change again.
Can you point to any family that which does not bear scars?
Dear heave, that made us weep, cease, I beseech you,
But do not let strangers mock us.
If they were to know our plight, not only friends
But the whole world would pity us.
O cup-bearer, who passes the last round of wine.
Do not fill it to the brim, and let no thirst be fully quenched.
For now their long spell of good fortune lies asleep.
Do not awaken them, O wheel of time, they are in deep slumber.
O mirth and joy, hasten hence, Delhi is no place for you any more,
Yes, once Delhi was the center of art and science
But the art of poetry is dead, never to be born again.
Do not grieve for the glories of the past.
‘Ghalib,’ ‘Shefta,’ ‘Nayyar,’ ‘Azurda’ and ‘Zauq’ will never come again.
After ‘Momin,’ ‘Alavi’ and ‘Sehba,’ who is left to speak of that art of poetry.