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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The Nocturnal Court: The Life of a Prince of Hyderabad

The Nocturnal Court: The Life of a Prince of Hyderabad by Sidq Jaisi

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



This book is a serendipitous offshoot of research for the author’s other book “Memoirs of a City”, or so he claims. Serendipity or not, this is a wonderful book.

Narendra Luther does history aficionados a favour by translating Sidq Jaisi’s memoir of his life and times in Hyderabad written in Urdu into English. Sidq Jaisi’s reminiscences lie at the intersection of history and literature and offer a glimpse of the high-culture of the Nizams during their twilight years.

Luther draws parallels between the decadence of the Lucknow court in Wajid Ali Shah’s era and Prince Muazzam Jah’s revelries in his Hill Fort residence in a delightful introduction to the translated work (Pages. xix - lx). He remarks that there is no other account of the Hyderabad court and therein lies the book’s significance (p. xxii).

Sidq Jaisi’s seemingly personal memoirs throw light on the ideas of work, time and what it meant to be a gentleman in Hyderabad in the 1930s. For instance the ‘mushairas’ or sittings in the Prince’s court were where one had the luxury to “waste” time. Work was not gentlemanly and leisure was the sport to be indulged in. Time was squandered and the ultimate barometer of style and sophistication was to not hurry but to work things out at leisure (P.7).

Half way through the book, I felt absolutely helpless and despondent as I read about the sheltered lifestyle of Prince Muazzam Jah, completely impervious to the forces of change overwriting the destinies of aristocratic and feudal orders in the twenty years before India’s independence in 1947.

In the introductory chapter Narendra Luther discusses the tensions between the son (Prince Muazzam Jah) and the father (Nizam Mir Osman Ali Khan). As one reads Sidq’s memoir one can’t help but feel the difference of temperaments between an extravagantly rich Mir Osman Ali Khan indifferent to this wealth, abstemious in his personal life but grandly generous in his public contributions and Prince Muazzam Jah, wallowing in decadence buttressed by his coterie of obsequious sycophants. The differences between the father and son extended to politics too. Apparently, Prince Muazzam Jah wrote to his father insisting on the merger of Hyderabad with India (P. li).

Sidq Jaisi remarks: “The book is a mirror in which the ruler and his ministers, the nobles and the notables are reflected in their true colours. Nobody is unduly praised, but neither is anyone spared” (P. lxi). True to his words, Jaisi portrays the typical courtier at the Prince’s court, through the characters Ummak Jung and Dhimmauk Jung: Obsequious sycophants buttressing the artificial cocoon of the Prince’s existence while the country kept pace with grand historical changes. Despite Jaisi’s praise for the refinement of the Prince (P.13), I could not reconcile this ‘refinement’ with the heights of sycophancy of the courtiers and the Prince’s (deliberate?) ignorance.

Jaisi describes his two initial nights in the Prince’s nocturnal court in the year 1936. He observes: “The principal function of a courtier was to ensure that the Prince never felt bored or become melancholy. It was not an easy job (P.23).” He adds, “Honorary courtiership implied that no financial benefit was expected from the Prince (P.34).” They had the additional responsibility to shadow the Prince in all his waking hours. Jaisi in his essential humorous style remarks: “I prayed to God to save me from such proximity (to the Prince) (P.17).”

Despite the veneer of sophistication and opulence, Hyderabad was hollowing out at its core. The degeneracy was a reflection of the society at that time, rankled by feudalism and illiteracy. Employment at the royal court was a definite means of income. Sidq Jaisi portrays this in touching words:
“The worth of his (Prince Muazzam Jah’s) courtiers was judged by their ability to indulge in obscenities. He used to abuse others and exulted in being abused in turn. The sort of things uttered in his court are too disgraceful to be mentioned. The tragedy of the degenerate nobility of the Deccan was encapsulated in the fact that the goons who shared his company and his cup were spinning around in cars while men of letters like Fani and Yagna Changezi were living in misery (P.32).”

If the Prince’s court was such a den of debauchery and decadency why did men of letters such as Fani and Jaisi want to be admitted into it? Jaisi’s memoir reads like a treatise on human frailities. He remarks, everyone in the Prince’s court were seduced by the richness and the company of the nobility. They wanted to be part of this high society. But they forgot that this “Society requires wealth and ease of circumstances and he (they) did not have them (P.5).”

This book is a must read for all who love Hyderabad. For those who critique the virtues of the present democracy, this book serves as a caveat that behind the splendour of the nostalgic past lie shadows of excess and misery. One has to learn from the past and let it go but cannot revisit it.






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"Aurangzeb: The Man and the Myth" by Audrey Truschke

Aurangzeb: The Man and the Myth by Audrey Truschke

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


In this book Audrey Truschke takes up the challenge of addressing one of the most controversial figures of Indian history. The book should be read in the spirit it was written- as a "preliminary" engagement/exploration of alternative understandings about Aurangzeb. A historian’s task to this extent is doubly challenging: identifying the source material and putting aside one’s predispositions and prejudices in the task of interpreting the sources. Truschke claims she has stepped forward from earlier research (read Jadunath Sarkar’s) on Aurangzeb in this regard.

The author attempts to understand Aurangzeb’s core values and how they informed his rule as an emperor. She claims that Aurangzeb wanted “to be a just king, a good Muslim and a sustainer of Mughal culture.” She condones Aurangzeb’s use of violent tactics to continue his plans of an expansionist state. In her words: “But the question before us is not whether Aurangzeb was a just king. Rather I want to know what Aurangzeb thought it meant to be a just Mughal king, and how that shaped is world views and actions as emperor of Hindustan” (P.13).

However, at a few points in the book, it is hard to reconcile the author’s benign reading of Aurangzeb with her own evidence. The narrative construct seems repetitive and thin. The reader is left unconvinced. For instance, the author claims Aurangzeb extended state security to Hindu and Jain temples more often than he demolished them. Aurangzeb authorized targeted temple destructions and desecrations throughout his rule (PP 100-101). Though, Aurangzeb issued an order in 1672 recalling all endowed land grants given to Hindus and reserved all such land grants for Muslims it was not strictly enforced, hence a second order was issued.

Truschke contends that: “If strictly enforced, this move would have been a significant blow to Hindu and Jain religious communities, but historical evidence suggests otherwise” (P.105). I feel the author widely misses the point that policy stance sets the tone for public culture. Policy initiatives especially in those times cannot be taken lightly. The empire existed to please the emperor. In the absence of appropriate checks and balances in that time and day the emperor’s inclinations would have directed and shaped political culture of the public.

The idea that Aurangzeb’s religious ideas were puritanical and that he was “pious” than his predecessors is contested in the book. I wish the author would have delved deeper into the tenuous relation between religion and politics. That the Mughal emperors and even the kings of the Delhi Sultanate in the earlier centuries strived to win over the religious leaders to legitimize their authority has been explored elsewhere. It is this nuance that might have been explored in the book. For all his ‘piety’ and stance on morality I feel Aurangzeb was not far from his predecessors in craving approval from the Ulema and privileging the role of religion in real politick. Rulers of the Delhi Sultanate and early Mughal emperors were aware that they might have won over the land but the popular will and sympathies lied with the Sufi masters who were the real Kings ruling the hearts of the people.

I would have liked to read more about Aurangzeb’s contentious relation with the Sufis of Delhi and the Deccan. The author does have a good point that Aurangzeb’s piety might have been a performance for himself (to redeem himself from guilt for his past actions) and for others (to gain credibility). The conflicting personalities of Aurangzeb are laid out in Chapters 4 and 5.
I wish the author would have engaged more on Aurangzeb’s lack of an enduring legacy. Had he consolidated his victories and built a bureaucratic apparatus to implement his idea of justice, history would have remembered him as fair and impartial and not as a vindictive, impulsive emperor meting out retributive justice.

We need more scholars like Truschke to challenge received understanding but we also need rigorous scholarship that moves beyond conjecture and thin evidence.







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A Portrait of Agra

In the Shadow of the Taj: A Potrait of Agra by Royina Grewal

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This book is a biography of Agra. I read the revised and updated 2014 edition. The chapters are organised in a fashion that is faintly reminiscent of Khushwanth Singh's Delhi. A chapter steeped in fascinating historical excursion followed by a chapter exploring contemporary Agra. As we read the book we understand that the Taj is just one facet to be explored in Agra. Much remains to be explored for the consummate traveler.

Royina Grewal takes us on a tour of Agra to see Kabutar-bazi; leather industry and the market of carpet weavers; the art of Mughal portraiture; needle painting and the mouth watering Agra peetha; Mumtaz's forgotten place of burial before the Taj was built; the cemetery that houses the oldest European grave in India and many more hidden secrets.

The book goes beyond a historical-structural exploration of Agra. Grewal points out the effect of Partition on the ethos of the city. Emigration of the city's Muslim population and the new immigrant population altered the city's character. I agree with Royina Grewal that the soul of a city lies in the collective memory of the residents. The remembered anecdotes assume an almost spiritual significance in people's memories. As we read the book we feel almost helpless as the 'memory of Agra' is lost to the ravages of time and apathy of its citizens.

In the words of the author: " There is a sense almost of suspended animation, a city adrift in time. Agra is a city in transition, still searching for a new identity. It needs citizens who care and a huge awareness campaign to instil pride in the city once more. But pride comes only when the stomach is full. And for many of Agra's people this requirement is still unfulfilled. Until that need is met, Agra will remain a provincial backwater, muddling through in the shadow of the Taj Mahal (P.26)."

The chapter on colonial attitudes towards Indians shows how 'harsh judgment' and 'moral superiority' of the Britishers extended to people as well as architecture. Only thirty of the five hundred palaces of the Agra Fort remain and the fort itself seems to disappear in the shadow of the Taj despite being a UNESCO World Heritage site. One can't but feel nostalgic about Agra's riverfront that was once called the golden mile. One's imagination would fall short in reconstructing the splendor of Agra with its beautiful gardens and havelis alongside the River Yamuna amidst the noise and pollution of today cramped by noisy trucks and freight cars.

For the ones who can hear Agra's voice, it is hard to miss her existential cries. For the ones who can't, this book is a must read.



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Hyderabad: A City of Hope by Malvika Singh

Hyderabad: A City of Hope by Malvika Singh

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This book by Malvika Singh is a collection of impressions about Hyderabad. The selections fall under two themes broadly: Romantic nostalgia for the Hyderabad that was - the architectural splendor evident in both Qutubshahi and Asafjahi buildings; high culture of the Nizams reflected in the literary works and culinary masterpieces - or calm resignation to the changes wrought in Hyderabad by time.

Even cities fall prey to ravages of time and the reader experiences a feeling of helplessness as some contributors describe how Hyderabad's synergistic Hindu-Muslim culture has been replaced by the garb of cosmpolitanism and ruthless capitalist competition. The result: several high rise buildings encroaching historically valuable sites, loss of vintage buildings such as the Diwan Deodi, Lakkadkot and the Basheerbagh palace.

However, there are also articles by authors who through their optimistic portrayal argue that all is not lost. It is inevitable that tradition gives way to modernity. We see traditional burkha clad women making a niche for themselves in tech-savvy Hyderabad. The old, feudal, princely ways were outdated and had to go. Change, some contributors say, has definitely been for the better as the extractive relation of Hyderabad with its hinterland areas has been replaced by a dynamic, competitive creed.

After reading the book, one can't but wish and hope that the 'mithaas' (sweetness) of Deccani Urdu and the hospitality of Hyderabadis remains untouched with time. This book is an enjoyable read for anyone curious about the soul of Hyderabad.



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Mahlaqa Chanda: An Extraordinary woman for anytime

One of my favourite haunts in Hyderabad is the Darga on top of the Maula Ali hill. This is my place of refuge, and quiet contemplation. One has to climb a few hundred steps leading to the top. The exercise is rewarding: the hill top offers beautiful views of the city sprawling endlessly.

(Photo, Personal Collection: Part of the Trek to Moula Ali Darga, 2016)

The inner courtyard of the Darga with the green pavilion offers shelter to the visiting pilgrims. It was built by Mahlaqa Chanda (1767 - 1824), the adopted daughter of the then Prime Minister of the Nizam, Nawab Ruknuddaula. She was a devout Shia Muslim and in tribute to Moula Ali, she invoked Maula Ali in her takhallus (signature at the end of the poem). Her poems are a combination of spiritual yearning and a commentary on her current times.

Mahlaqa Chanda’s work is accessible at https://rekhta.org/poets/mah-laqa-chanda/ghazals.

Mahlaqa Chanda is an extraordinary woman even by contemporary standards. She chose to never marry and remained single till the end of her life. She was an accomplished poet (and the only woman) who published a Diwan (collection of poems). Mahlaqa Chanda encouraged historical scholarship chronicling the life and times of Nizam-ul-Mulk Asif Jah II, whose reign extended from 1762 to 1803. She was an accomplished dancer and singer, and a favourite of the Nizam.

Chanda rode to war alongside the Nizam in the Battle of Pangal and the Nizam is said to have depended on her wise counsel. In recognition of her bravery and contribution she was awarded the title “Mahlaqa” and the Jagir of Adikmet. She was made a Mansabdar, which entitled her to an income all through her life. She enjoyed extraordinary privileges in the Nizam’s court and was reputed to be a confidant and counsellor to the Nizam. Her charm and erudition broke gender barriers and made her an indispensable presence in the Asafjahi court, a typically male bastion. The present area of the Osmania University, Syedpalli, Hyderguda/old MLA colony, Chandapet, Pallai Pahad and Alibagh are part of the Estate awarded to Chanda by the Nizam.
(Imama, Syeda (Ed). The Untold Charminar: Writings on Hyderabad. Penguin Books India: 2008: pp. 26-34)

I wonder why she chose to live a solitary life. Chanda explains the tenuous nature of being an accomplished and well read woman in a patriarchal society in a letter to her mother.

“No, Ma, I will not marry. I will not be at the mercy of any single man, to be left like you to almost die of hunger and exhaustion. I have my Lord, my God, my Maula, I have your love – I have so much. I will teach and train other girls what i have learnt of the beautiful world of poetry, music and dance of which we have an endless source in this land, they will also acquire the ability and the knowledge to earn if they need to.”

(Latif, Bilkees I. Forgotten. New Delhi: Penguin, 2010: P.113)

I feel this pretty much echoes the sentiments of the modern woman and the need to be independent. Mahlaqa Chanda also built an orphanage for underprivileged girls. The building still stands and houses the Nampally Girls High School. Chanda Bagh, the garden that houses the graves of Mahlaqa Chanda and her mother, is at the foothill of Moula Ali Hill. The following link takes you to a tour of Chanda Bagh and the recent restoration work undertaken by the Nizams trust and other institutions.
https://rekhta.org/poets/mah-laqa-chanda/video


I empathise with Chanda’s sentiments about not being able to reconcile her public life with the sheltered, secluded life marriage entailed in those times. In her words:

“I lack nothing, ya Maula, for God has given me so much in so many ways. My dilemma is that I am desired and wanted in marriage and I have to decide which way of life I should follow. I cannot be a wife, a begum of a great Lord and still indulge in all my interests.....What will happen to my dhrupads and khayals? Never will I be able to whirl around in scintillating dances with my ghungroos alive with sound, and the beat of my feet dancing to the throbbing beat of the music. These are a part of my whole being. Can I live without them?........Dear Lord, confined to a harem; I suppose that I will be cared for....Today I am honoured, respected, loved. Should I surrender all that I am, all that I have? Help me to decide, my Lord. You have cared for me always. Show me the way that I should choose.”

(Latif, Bilkees I. Forgotten. New Delhi: Penguin, 2010: P. 91)

(Painting by Rai Ventkatchallam. Hunting Party of Nizam 'Ali Khan, late 18th century. Opaque watercolor on canvas. Salar Jung Museum, Hyderabad.)
The above painting depicts a lone palanquin with a woman in the upper right corner (Mahlaqa Chanda) and her pet cheetahs: confident and at ease in the Royal procession dominated by men.

As a woman able to traverse the worlds of professional work and marriage, I salute Chanda’s spirit. It is the light of many such women that shines our path today.

(Photo, Personal Collection: My men with Chanda Bagh in the background, 2016.)