Bilquis Jehan Khan: A Song of Hyderabad, Memories of a World Gone By

Summing up the book, the author Bilquis Jehan Khan writes:

" I have told my story so that those who never saw it (Hyderabad) then would have an idea of what it was in its heyday (pre-1948). It had a culture that no longer exists - it belongs to a time gone by (P.282)."

However, this book is beyond a 'nostalgic romance of the Hyderabad that was'. It is a recollection of Khan's life experiences spanning three continents and six countries and the kindness of people that makes the world a better place. Only someone like Bilquis Jehan Khan would find that despite her journey across the world -- the world is small and home is built with love and friendship, surpassing geographical boundaries.

As I read Khan's recollections of Hyderabad between 1930 and 1948, before her journey to Pakistan to join her husband, what impressed me most was the cosmopolitan nature of the city.

Perhaps, only in Hyderabad would a Muslim wedding trousseau consist of silk embroidered sarees, the staple of Parsi ladies (P.113); Only in Hyderabad would the festival of colors Holi, during the month of Basant, be celebrated with equal fervour by Hindus and Muslims (P.33) or a Christian priest would bring his troubled parishioners for healing blessings from a Sufi master (P.148). Further, Khan describes in detail the large number of Arab and African guards who served in the armed contingent of the Nizam and Muslim noblemen in the city, their special cuisine and customs (P.25). Khan herself, is married to Nasir, the son of a Muslim nobleman and a Scottish lady.

Khan describes the administration of jagirs (lands) by the Muslim noblemen. She writes:

"Our tenants who lived on the jagir were Hindus of the untouchable caste. My grandparents treated them well and looked after their interests. The Hindu servants were paid the same wages as the Muslim servants in Nasir Manzil (P.50)."

Khan's recollections are heartening especially in the present days of religious polarisation in Hyderabad and elsewhere in the country.

Khan notes a peculiar sense of camaraderie between the Muslim nobility and the Hindu employees.

Khan recollects one such incident between her grandmother and Malleyya, the chowkidar who happened to report to his duty, quite drunk. When asked "How would you answer to God on the Day of Judgment?", Malleyya, emboldened by his inebriated state replies, referring to the disparity in their class status: "Pasha, there are going to be so many more important people standing before God in front of me that He will not see little me to ask, 'Malleyya, why have you been drinking so much?' (P.52)."

I haven't read much about the experiences of Hyderabadis after the military action and accession of Hyderabad state to India in 1948. Khan notes the suddenness of the political changes and how unprepared the Nizam and his subjects were to meet the nascent democratic India. She shares her own feelings of being uprooted from her homeland Hyderabad.

In her words:

"We did not feel the immediate effects of the Partition at first, but in September 1948, the first year of my marriage, the Indian army marched in and took over the state (p.164)."

Her husband, who was an employee of the Nizam State railways had to find a job elsewhere. When he was posted to Karachi, Pakistan Bilquis Jehan Khan recounts: "My whole world collapsed. Hyderabad was my life and soul. How could I leave India and live in Pakistan? ... I decided to go to Karachi. I could foresee many trials and difficulties, but I believed that with my husband by my side I could bear anything (P.165)."

Just when Bilquis Jehan Khan and her family seem to find themselves at home in a new country, they get entangled in a political manhunt by the Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Her son-in-law was arrested by the government on charges of conspiring with the leaders of Baloch who were rebelling against the government. For two long years, the family did not have much information about his whereabouts until his release in 1977, after the military coup by General Zia Ul Haq (P.243).

A Song of Hyderabad is a personal memoir, a political-social commentary in one. This book imparts a profound message to the reader: and that is to live with grace and dignity in the face of troubles.

I have always found peace at the many Sufi shrines in Hyderabad. Khan writes about her father who renounced his "surrender to the worldly life" at the age of 39 and became a Pir (spiritual master). The following lines about what it means to be a Sufi, struck me the most:

"The goal of the Sufi is to 'see the face of the Beloved (God)'. Among Sufis the basic means to that end is self-control. Meditation, the invoking of God's name, and self-discipline are important parts of Sufi practice, but unlike Hindus and Buddhists whose ascetism can take extreme forms, Muslims are forbidden to totally renounce this world. They believe that the greater challenge is to follow a spiritual path while living in the world and whilst being surrounded by its many temptations. A Sufi should renounce himself, not others (pp 143-144)."

I will cherish this book and its message.

I am Malala: The Girl who stood up for education and was shot by the Taliban

This book should be a compulsory read in schools. Schools are the training centres for future citizens and we have a duty to our children to educate them about the interconnectedness and well being of individuals across the world. If we are aware of this interconnectedness of our existence, we understand the futility of war and invasions.

Viktor Frankl's "Man's search for meaning" exhorts us to find meaning in tragedy and use it to propel ourselves to achieve our potential. I am Malala's message is equally profound.

Malala presents an eloquent account of the dangers of a state that fails to fulfil its mission to its people and how non-state actors step into this gap and hijack a country's future. She warns world citizens, this process is so gradual that we don't realise until its too late.

People in Swat valley initially accepted the Taliban leader (Fazlullah) because they

"liked his talk of bringing back Islamic law, as everyone was frustrated with the Pakistani justice system...(P. 113)."

They saw the Taliban leader as a kind of Robin Hood (P. 115).The Taliban exploited the ignorance of the people and their illiteracy:

"Mullahs often misinterpret the Quran and the Hadith when they teach them in our country, as few people understand the original Arabic (P. 113)."

The Taliban, Malala observes, first took over the music, then their Buddhas, then their history and culture.

"They destroyed everything old and didn't bring anything new (P.123)

At several places as I was reading the book, I felt this story is not about Malala; it is about countries with real international interests and how weak states fall prey to the machinations of the strong. Quoting Rahmat Shah Sayel an Afghan poet, Malala observes what was happening in Afghanistan was a:

"war between two elephants" - the US and the Soviet Union - not our war, and Pashtuns (in Swat, Pakistan) were "like grass crushed by the hooves of two fierce beasts (P.35)".

It is impossible to read the book and miss the agony of millions of people, displaced or refugees, whose sentiments Malala echoes:

"(But) when you are exiled from your homeland, where your father and forefathers were born and where you have centuries of history, it's very painful. You can no longer touch the soil or hear the sweet sound of the rivers. Fancy hotels and meetings in palaces cannot replace the sense of home (P. xvii)."

Every student of history or politics, no, every citizen of the world should read this book to understand how seemingly distant politics has grave repercussions for local life. National boundaries no longer limit political tremors. The interconnectedness of our existence means that we as world citizens need to step beyond our limited cultural comprehensions and seek to know and understand and educate ourselves. We baulk from doing this to our own detriment.

Malala observes:

"It (9/11) might have changed the whole world, but we were living right in the epicentre of everything...In Pakistan we were still under a dictatorship, but America needed our help, just as it had in the 1980s to fight the Russians in Afghanistan....There was a major problem however. Our (Pakistan's) own intelligence service ISI had virtually created the Taliban (pp. 85-86)."

Stuck between a state that ignores the welfare its own citizens (Pakistan) and the Taliban that takes advantage of the state's inefficiency,

the only remedy lies in education. "Ignorance allowed politicians to fool people and bad administrators to be re-elected (P. 41)".

I feel immensely privileged to have leaders that laid foundations for a strong democratic tradition in India. Malala's memoir is a caveat not to take the institutions of democracy and tolerance for granted. The state is for the people and the people work it. To sit in complacency is an irreparable mistake. Martin Niemoller's poem serves as a reminder.

First they came for the communists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the socialists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak out because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak out because I was not a Catholic.
Then they came for me,
and there was no one left to speak for me (P. 140).

This book can be received in various ways:
as a memoir of Malala's life;
as a nostalgic account about her homeland marred by international realism;
as a snap shot view of two decades preceding Malala's shooting by the Taliban in 2012 : to understand that national politics is driven by long term historical causal sequences and the variables keep on adding with the passage of time, crystallising as a Gordian knot political gridlock;
OR
most importantly as a warning to the world about the dangers of acting out of narrow self-interests.

Mohammad Quli Qutb Shah (1565-1612): Ruler of Hyderabad and the first Urdu Poet.

I have often been passive audience to the Delhi versus Mumbai debate between my friends. However, neither Delhi - the site of ‘seven cities’, city of conquerors and intellectuals - nor Mumbai - the city of opportunities, microcosm of India bustling with entrepreneurs - holds allure for me.

I have always been a quintessential Hyderabadi.

Hyderabad combines the adventurous spirit of Mumbai with the architectural and literary mystique of Delhi. Talking of literary splendour, after the fortuitous discovery of the diwan (collection of poems) of Mohammad Quli Qutb Shah in 1922, the locus of hosting the first Urdu poet shifted from Delhi to Hyderabad. The archives section of the Salar Jung Museum treasures the only surviving, illustrated but incomplete manuscript of Mohammad Qutb Shah’s diwan.

Masud Husain’s essay Mohammad Quli Qutb Shah is a sketch of this poet-king, the fifth ruler of Golconda. Originally written in Urdu, the essay is translated into English by Mehr Afshan Farooqi.

The fourth Qutb Shah ruler of Hyderabad, Ibrahim Qutb Shah is lauded as the real founder of the Qutb Shah dynasty. His exile and stay in Vijaynagar familiarised him to the socio-cultural traditions of the Hindu population. Telugu language and literature were encouraged in his court alongside Persian. Ibrahim Qutb Shah was known to be the precursor to the tolerant ideas of ‘Mahabali’ Akbar.

It is believed that Mohammad Quli Qutb Shah was born of a Hindu mother and was brought up in the Hindu tradition until the time of ascension to the throne. Scholars such as H.K.Sherwani contest this claim, but Masud Husain remarks that Mohammmad Qutb Shah’s poems hint at an unconventional upbringing and ascension to the throne of Hyderabad in 1580.

“I left my faith and adopted this religion (Islam)
I was born of a wonderful Hindu lady.” (P.6)

Ibrahim Qutb Shah was well known for his tolerance for Hindus and other Muslim sects other than Shias. However, Mohammad Qutb Shah conspicuously veers away from this tradition. To buttress this claim, Masud Husain quotes one of Mohammad Qutb Shah’s poems:

“The faith of the Prophet survives
You chase out the Hindu armies
Destroy the darkness of sin
Bring forth the sparkling daylight” (P.11)

The true value of this essay lies in its examination of whether the famed Bhagmathi is fact or fiction.

Masud Husain explores contemporary, primary sources such as Faizi’s letters to emperor Akbar (Insha-e-Faizi), Abul Fazl’s Akbar Nama, Nizamuddin Baklishis’s account of Deccan History in 1594 (Tabqat-e-Akbar Shah), Ferishta’s account of the Deccan (Gulshan-e-Ibrahimi written around 1609-10) to vie with H.K.Sherwani’s argument that Bhagmati is a mere romantic conjuring and bears no truth (pp12-15). I wish there would be more historical research about this slice of time. Given the short confines of the essay form, the reader is left wanting for more.

In the latter half of the book, Husain remarks: “Mohammad Quli is not as proficient in his description of human nature as he is of the emotions and desires which are aroused in his heart (P.36).” At least, in the few poems that have been quoted in the book, I find it fascinating how Mohammad Quli could reconcile carnal pleasures with his intense devotion and supplication to the Imams. For instance:

“By the grace of the Prophet,
Qutb enjoy yourself drink wine in the company of your beloved.”

Husain quotes (P.23): “Even at the moment of ultimate ecstasy which he calls ‘apar aiysh’ Quli does not forget to thank the Prophet.”

It is said, a book is not a book unless it is an experience. After reading Masud Husain’s work I am inspired to get a collection of Mohammad Quli’s poems in English. If not for the appreciation of his Urdu poetry, to thank him for the munajaat (Whispered Prayer) that perhaps brought me to Hyderabad, centuries later:

“Mora shehr logaan se mamoor kar
Rakhyan jun tun darya main min ya samei”

“Hear my prayer God
Grant that I may always be happy
Make my city full of people
Just as the river is so full of fish.”

Bookless in Baghdad by Shashi Tharoor

Bookless in Baghdad: Reflections on Writing and Writers by Shashi Tharoor

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


There are books, and books about books. Bookless in Baghdad is a collection of Tharoor's previously published articles about his own books and the books that made him. What 'Bookless in Baghdad' does beyond being a collection of articles is, it provides a better view of Tharoor's literary canvas. In a few articles in Part one and Part three Tharoor reviews the reviews about his books.

I can imagine Tharoor knocking the pinhead-reviewer in exasperation and clarifying: "Mahabharata's (Its) relevance to today's India is the relevance that today's Indians want to see in it. After all, the epic has, throughout the ages, been the object of adaptation, interpolation, reinterpretation and expurgation by a number of retellers, each seeking to reflect what he saw as relevant to his time (P.22)."It is not hard to miss the seeds for his latest book 'An Era of Darkness' in his various articles, where he makes a case against colonialism for appropriating the cultural definition of its subject peoples (P.25).

There is a thin line between being self adulatory and clarifying one's work for the audience and Tharoor succeeds in pitching his books to the readers. Tharoor's personal favourites Wodehouse and Rushdie receive a graceful tribute in the pages. I feel both authors have influenced Tharoor's work: Tharoor is a past master of the Wodehousian wit. His book The great Indian novel is reminiscent of Rushdie's Satanic Verses for using tropes about religion/mythology as a literary device.

Tharoor affirms that one can be patriotic and secular at the same time. In these times when patriotism is equated with jingoistic nationalism and majoritarian politics, Tharoor's book is an antidote for these tendencies and should be prescribed as a compulsory read in schools and colleges.

In his words:
"India has survived the Aryans, the Mughals, the British; it has taken from each - language, art, food, learning - and grown with all of them. To be an Indian is to be part of an elusive dream all Indians share, a dream that fills our minds with sounds, words and flavours from many sources that we cannot easily identify (P.106)."

And again:

"The suggestion that only a Hindu, and only a certain kind of Hindu, can be an authentic Indian, is an affront to the very premise of Indian nationalism...The only possible idea of India is that of a nation greater than the sum of its parts (P.106)."

The cynic in me feels this book is more like a requiem to the literary genius sacrificed at the altar of sycophantic politics of the Congress party. Why ever would such a well read, sane person want to tread the murky water of politics? Well, for that Tharoor has to definitely write another book, and I certainly look forward to reading it.



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Princely India by Raja Lala Deen Dayal: Court Photographer (1884-1910) to the Premier Prince of India.

Reading this book is like having an intimate look into a slice of history.

Every time I visit Hyderabad, I visit the Mecca Masjid where the Asaf Jah kings lie in peace: all except the First Nizam and the Seventh Nizam. One can still find the remnants of past splendour in the Paigah tombs and the vast tomb complex of the Qutubshahi kings. Yet, the nondescript marble tombs of the Asaf Jahs draw as many visitors as the rest. My favourite is the tomb of the sixth Nizam Mahbub Ali Khan Pasha in Mecca Masjid where visitors are smeared with ashes on the brow to protect them from snake bites and bad luck. This book offers a rare glimpse of this King, Saint and beloved of the people, the 6th Nizam of Hyderabad.

The Asafjah dynasty rose out of the ruins of war through audacity and political craft.

Twice in history, Asafjahs swam against the current of political change that drowned even bigger dynasties in its deluge: The first time after the invasion of Delhi by Nadir Shah in 1739 and second, after the 1857 Indian war of Independence that ended with the exile of Bahadur Shah Zafar II to Rangoon and the complete dismantling of the Mughal empire.

This book is a collection of photographs taken by Raja Deen Dayal. Financial adversity compelled Deen Dayal’s later generations to sell off somewhere between forty thousand to sixty thousand annotated glass plate negatives for the price of glass scrap. The present book is a compilation of the remaining photographs by the grandson Raja Amichand Deen Dayal. No other photographic or literary record of Nizam Mir Mahbub Ali Khan exists.

Mahbub Ali Khan ascended the throne when he was three following the demise of his father and was tutored by an English teacher, Major Clerk appointed by the British resident, John Cordery. The tutor was later dismissed by the resident for imparting to the young Nizam ‘liberal’ values detrimental to the empire. After the departure of the English tutor, Raja Deen Dayal was one of the very few who had rare access to the reclusive life of the shy and private Nizam. He was appointed the court photographer in 1884 and worked in that capacity until his death in 1910. The demise of the sixth Nizam in 1911 ended the royal patronage to Deen Dayal’s successors.

Clark Worswick discusses in his historical text to the volume, the immense contribution of Raja Deen Dayal in immortalizing the Nizam and Princely Hyderabad through his photographs. While I agree with him, I would also like to add that it was the fore sight and generosity of Mir Mahbub Ali Khan that preserved history and Deen Dayal’s craft for future generations.

The Asaf Jahs were the last gate keepers of Mughal art and high culture. The fall of the Mughal Empire and the dissolution of the Awadh court catalysed an influx of talent into Hyderabad seeking royal patronage and support. The aftermath of the 1857 war of Independence heralded an era of abrupt change. Traditional arts such as paintings, portraits and miniatures gave way to the modern art of photography. Getting a photograph ‘done’ was a symbol of modernity for the Indian aristocracy and Indian bourgeois alike. The absence of patrons and clamour to climb the social ladder hastened the demise of the art of portraiture. Photography became more than art, it became a symbol of social advancement.

Nizam Mahbub Ali Khan’s patronage assumes special significance because this was the first of such an offer to a native Indian professional photographer, privileging him over other reputed and established British Photography firms. Worswick’s words add credence to this sentiment:

“…..the native photographers had to contend with the social snobbery that dictated periodic visits by the princes to British photographic firms based in Calcutta. Perhaps this tradition, more than anything else, doomed the emergent Indian photographer. Yearly the princes would make their almost obligatory trip to Calcutta for the social season, when it was customary for them to be ‘done” by either Bourne & Shepherd or Johnston & Hoffman. These firms were so large, well-equipped, and prestigious that it was impossible for a small Indian firm in a native state to compete (P.18)”


As I leaf through the book I feel, for once Nizam Mahbub Ali Khan’s generosity has not been laid waste. Raja Deen Dayal’s photographs serve both as a record of architecture and social commentary about the times. Deen Dayal captures the mood between the ruler and the ruled with a unique Indian sensibility. For instance, the photograph of the masquerade party demystifies the relations between the imperial ruler and the native (pp. 82-83). The photographs of the tiger hunt in Madanpalle (P.53) and the visit of Grand Duke Alexander of Russia in (P.55) allude to a vanished world. It is hard not to remember the food for work programme of the modern Indian state as one pores over the pictures of the famine relief and public work programs to provide employment to people in 1910(P.64 and P.69)

This book is a window into the past giving us a rare glimpse of the social and political climate in Hyderabad during the reign of Nizam Mahbub Ali Khan. A picture is worth a thousand words, but I would say each photograph is worth ten thousand more because hidden within the static image is the story of a dynamic socio-political milieu.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni: Before We visit the Goddess

Before We Visit the Goddess by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


I loved reading this book. It had a Gilmore girl-esque aura around it with the plot centering on three generations of women : Sabitri, Bela and Tara. Divakaruni brings out the complicated dynamic between mothers and daughters in heart touching prose. I couldn't help but think to myself, perhaps the moral of the story is about the futility of revenge that Sabitri tries to convey in a letter addressed to her granddaughter Tara.

Sabitri's marriage to an intelligent and self-made Bijan is an elaborate plan to snub Leelamoyi and her spineless, aristocratic son Rajiv. Sabitri's visit to Leelamoyi years later, fails to exorcise the demon of revenge because of Leelamoyi's fading memory. Ironically, at the very moment Sabitri realizes that she actually loves Bijan, a tragedy of errors follows. Bela blurts out to her dad that a man kissed her mom. While Sabitri triumphs over her lower self, Bijan drowns in feelings of jealousy and anger. Sabitri's story is the story of a single woman fighting the oil corporation for her husband's 'accident' and how she takes over Calcutta's palate with her desserts. Sabitri's story reads like a culinary treat at times and I wished I could taste her signature dessert 'Durga Mohan'.

Bela's teenage rebellion against Sabitri extends to an adult life estranged from her mother. Love propels Bela to travel to another continent. However, love soon sours into revenge, as Bela and Sanjay grow apart in their marriage. Here again, it is the man who drowns in the whirlpool of suspicion, revenge and anger while Bela gathers the bits and pieces of her life and comes out triumphant as a reputed chef-author after her divorce from Sanjay.

Despite seemingly conventional external appearances, and outward helplessness and frailty, Sabitri and Bela are strong women who take control of their life. They refuse to be sucked into self pity and failure. Sabitri's friendship with Bipin Bihari Ghatak and Bela's gay friend Kenneth are examples of life at the intersection of two cultures - a bigoted traditional culture that valorizes a 'daughter's honor and duty' over her own happiness and an open minded, prejudice free thinking that emphasizes audacity and strength.

Tara has a giant shift of perspective about her mother and grandmother after she discovers her grandmother's long lost letter from years ago. In an almost epiphanic moment, she realizes that the power to transform meek women into independent women with flourishing careers in the face of tragedy lies within.

"Good daughters are fortunate lamps, brightening the family's name.
Wicked daughters are firebrands, blackening the family's name (P.205)."

Both Sabitri and Bela throughout their life redefine the idea of a 'good daughter'. Achieving something all by oneself without having to depend on anyone gives the utmost satisfaction. This sense of accomplishment cannot be taken away by any one and this is what it means to be a fortunate lamp (P.208): To be self-sufficient and self-effulgent. It is this wisdom from such a life well-lived that Sabitri and Bela pass on to Tara.

I read this novel as a paean to strong and independent women who rise above tragedies and human frailty to outshine the rest of the world. Thank you Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.



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Isabel Allende: The Japanese Lover

The Japanese Lover by Isabel Allende

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


The subject of Allende's latest novel seems to be the supposed beauty of flawed love. Like the rest of her novels, this book too traces the travails of human love against the backdrop of political turmoil. Allende targets the American isolationist stance until Pearl harbor and the constant need for an enemy other in the American psyche. How the Japanese filled this space in the pre-cold war years and the doomed fate of Ichimei and Alma's love forms the main plot. I personally feel Allende succeeds to reduce the charm of love to cold calculation against this political backdrop. Ironically, this is also the undoing of the story's success.

Alma is definitely not my favorite Allende heroine. In Alma's words, about the reasons why she chose a marriage of convenience with Nathanaiel: "Ichimei and I had a chance when we were young, but I didn't have the courage. I was unable to give up on security, and so I was trapped in convention." (P.172). Not just Alma, every character has a tale of flawed love.

Nathaniel makes the best of his (trapped) marriage to his cousin Alma by having a rather asexual marriage based on friendship and chivalry. Ichimei, the Zen master clearly demarcates his tumultuous love for Alma with the calm (read placid) marriage with his Japanese wife. By the time Alma realizes she actually loves Nathaniel, she is compelled to prove her love or repay for Nathaniel's chivalry by giving up his last days to his one true love - Lenny. Flawed love seems to haunt all the characters except Isaac and Seth.

For an Allende novel, this work falls short on a deeper exploration of characters. It dwells little beyond a stereotypical illustration of the the austere, Japanese Zen master and wealthy Jews.



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