Dilli Durbar of 1911

As we in Delhi vacillate whether to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the Coronation Durbar or not, it might be useful to look at some of the contemporary responses to the Dilli Durbar. Like nearly everything else in modern Indian history, we find there is no uniform, monochromatic, monolithic response either to the shifting of the imperial capital or the presence of firang royalty in one’s midst.

Held in Delhi on the 12^th day of December 1911, the coronation durbar was an occasion where, with great pomp and ceremony, King George V and Queen Mary were proclaimed the Emperor and Empress of India. Princes, noblemen, landed gentry and persons of rank and repute sat under a gilded canopy, each according to his stature in the colonial pecking order, to hear His Royal Highness address His subjects. While this durbar, the third and last of its kind held in Delhi, was significant for various reasons, chiefly it marked the return of the imperial capital to Delhi from Calcutta and heralded the onset of near-feverish building activity in the new city. A bit like the Commonwealth Games 99 years later, the Delhi Durbar of 1911 marked frantic preparations to ‘present’ the city to the world. While some preparations for the durbar, such as those in Coronation Park, were of a temporary nature to serve the purpose of the brief royal visit, several other blueprints were shortly drawn up that would, over the next twenty years, transform the hilly outcrops that lay beyond Shajahanabad into a grand imperial city.

While the royal couple had laid the foundation stone for the new capital city within the durbar camp, it was eventually decided to shift it elsewhere: somewhere sufficiently far away from the old city of the Mughals so that the distinction between the Old and the New Delhi would be sharply evident. The village of Raisina offered a salubrious air and excellent views of the surrounding countryside from its top; moreover, it had enough space all around for a new city, laid out according to a grand master plan, to spread itself out. By 1912 Edward Lutyens and Herbert Baker were commissioned to build the new capital: one that would reflect the aims and aspirations of a city that would, henceforth, be not merely the beating heart of the political entity that was India but also embody the Imperial vision in its fullest and minutest detail.

To return to the momentous event of December 1911, it must be noted that the Delhi Durbar had evoked mixed reactions among the Indian populace. This high point of British rule in India was viewed and interpreted in different ways by different people. There was the satirical, questioning Urdu poet Akbar Illahabadi (1846-1921) deriding the Durbar because he saw it as an affront to national pride:

            They are favoured with rising fortune:
            The seven-fold heavens belong to them.

Theirs is the cup and theirs the wine:

Only the eyes are mine: the rest belongs to them.

Ahmed Ali’s seminal novel, Twilight in Delhi, carries a similarly sharp critique of colonial excess in his portrayal of the grief and heartbreak of Delhi’s Muslims through the character of Mir Nihal who goes to see the royal procession, and notes:

The procession passed by the Jama Masjid whose façade had been vulgarly decorated with a garland of golden writing containing slavish greetings from the Indian Mussalmans to the English King, displaying the treachery of the priestly class to their people and Islam.

We get yet another response to the Delhi Durbar in the writings of influential Urdu writers and editors. A few months before the Dilli Durbar, on 22 June 1911, King George V’s coronation had been celebrated by the Muslims of Lahore at a gathering in the Shahi Mosque, and among the speakers was the poet, Iqbal who emphasized the Muslims’ bounden duty to bear allegiance to the ruler of the day.

There was another response, too, to the Delhi Durbar -- one of acquiescence, even celebration – in other parts of the country. Rabindranath Tagore’s, Jana gana mana which was later to become India’s National Anthem, was first sung in Calcutta to celebrate the ‘Dilli Durbar’ at the annual session of the Congress, under the leadership of moderates like Surendranath Banerjee who had decided to accord an appropriate welcome to the visiting royal couple. Besides adopting a loyalty resolution, the leaders arranged for the singing of a suitable song to mark the occasion. The sequence of events on December 27 1911, on the second day of the session, was as follows: (a) singing of Jana gana mana adhinayaka; (b) reading out of messages of goodwill received from well-wishers including Ramsay McDonald, the British Labour Prime Minister; (c) adoption of the loyalty resolution; and (d) singing of a Hindi song in praise of the King specially composed for this purpose.

(. This article appeared in The Indian Express, The Real Page 3, 11 December 2011.)

Hindustani Awaaz: Literature, Culture and Society: Muharram

Hindustani Awaaz: Literature, Culture and Society: Muharram: Qatl-e-Husain asl mein marg-e-Yazid hai Islam zinda hota hai har Karbala ke baad The murder of Husain is actually the of Yezid ...

NDTV Interview -- with Sunil Sethi on 'Just Books'

Given below is link of my interview with Sunil Sethi on his show 'Just Books' on NDTV Profit, 5 Nov 2011

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/just-books/rakhshanda-jalil-on-her-book-release/215400

Q & A -- Sunday Guardian, 13 Nov 2011

I would like to look like my mother <><> <><>     Q. On a clear day, when the sun is out, who do you see when you look at your reflection in the mirror? A. I see my dear old friend Rakhshanda Jalil in the mirror; she's been a good friend. Q. What do you loathe in the reflection? What do you love and what do you fear? A. There is nothing that I dislike or fear in particular about my reflection. Q. Which facial feature do you consider your most attractive? Why? A. My favourite feature would have be my squint. Someone once told me that my squint gives me a faraway look and I quite like the idea of that.. Q. If age has changed the way you look, what do you miss the most, if anything at all? A. I miss the suppleness in my walk; I used to walk differently when I was younger. I guess you could say that I miss the spring in my step. Q. In the last year, have you ever wished you looked different? If yes, when? A. Yes, especially whenever I go to my children's school for parent-teacher sessions. Mothers nowadays seem to be getting younger by the day. Q. Who would you most like to look like? A. My mother, I think she's ageing very well. Age hasn't dimmed her curiosity or the sparkle in her eyes. She has this gleam in her eyes that makes her look much younger and she is very curious about the world around her.

Simla -- Lost Glory

Memory is a cruel thing; it preserves people and places in the formaldehyde of timelessness, saving them from the cruel ravages of age and circumstance. Nothing demonstrates this better than the so-called ‘trip down memory lane’, for seldom does such a trip culminate in a happy balance of expectation and reality. A recent trip Shimla proved just how chimeral a thing is memory, especial from one’s childhood.

Invited to present a paper at the Institute of Advanced Study in Shimla (IIAS), I jumped at the chance of revisiting the erstwhile capital of colonial India. Housed in the former Vice Regal Lodge, the IIAS is a place of rare beauty and splendour quite apart from being the country’s premier destination for academics, scholars and writers. While it is always an honour to speak at an international gathering of scholars, for me the occasion was a special one. For, it meant revisiting a place that held many happy memories from my childhood. My grandfather had been a Fellow here in the 1970s, working on the influence of western literature on Urdu. It was here, in this venerable institution, among its walnut wood panelled cubicles and its lofty-ceilinged library that he had organised seminars and written books drawing attention to, among other things, Iqbaliyat, a hitherto neglected area of scholarly study in India. He and my grandmother had lived in one of the quaint properties (called Delville) that dotted the Institute’s vast, rolling acres. And it was here that we, my siblings and I, had gambolled in our summer vacations during his tenure, revelling not merely in the escape from the oppressive heat of the plains but in the secluded grandeur of the Institute and its environs. To be invited to this oasis of calm and beauty as an adult was, thus, not merely an honour but an occasion to revisit the past, needless to say a carefree past.

Young as I was when I had last visited Shimla, I had been enraptured by its pristine beauty, its scenic nooks and crannies and its ever-smiling, ever-cheerful Himachali people. Going back, after nearly thirty years everything – except for the cheerful Himachali people – has changed, changed irrevocably. The drive up from Kalka station is prescient with the ominous changes ahead. A traffic snarl greets us as we are halfway up the first climb at Parwanoo. The hills, once clad in dense green, are pockmarked; the pine, rhododendron and oak that once clothed these hills in such abundance have been felled in large swathes to build box-like high-rise flats. Solan -- once renowned for its breweries, sanatoriums, fruit orchards and Wordsworthian cottages -- is dusty and muggy. Worse still, it sprouts Mcdonalds, Subway, et al. Already, I find myself missing the squeaky clean roadside dhabas that served piping hot rajma-chawal and aloo ke paranthe. The few old-fashioned dhabas that remain now serve ‘chow-main’, ‘Maggi noodal’ and ‘burger-pattis’, many bearing boards in Bengali and Gujrati to woo the big spenders from these two states.

Once called the ‘Queen of the Hills’ for it housed the summer capital of the colonial government, Shimla is a travesty of its former self. Its aura of genteel refinement, its salubrious pine-scented air, its row of sedate eateries and glass-fronted shops are all gone; in its place are the worst specimens of crass consumerism. The venerable shops on the stately Mall are gone, sold out or so completely revamped as to be unrecognisable. Gaindamull, from where we bought handmade fudge and glugged cold coffee in glass bottles, is an anonymous, self-service super store. The small, family-owned shops are all gone; in their place stand swanky, chain stores -- even a Tommy Hilifiger store, which I noted with some satisfaction, is empty save for a bored-looking expensively-dressed salesperson. Tara Hall, the country’s premier boarding school for girls, now takes in only day scholars. Scandal Point on the Ridge, once a haunt of fashionably-dressed who’s-who, is swamped with street hawkers though the Church of Scotland still manages to raise its stately head above the squalor of its surroundings.

Hoping to find some connection with the past, I walk into the India Coffee House, a franchise of the All-India Coffee Growers’ Cooperative. Set up in the 1950s, these lookalike coffeehouses popularised coffee and south Indian food such as idli-dosa-vada and are ubiquitous in most of the older cities. Long before the Baristas and the Café Coffee Days set up shop in Indian cities, it was these coffeehouses -- uniformly furnished in uninspiring browns and employing the most doddering old waiters imaginable -- that managed, at frugal prices, to attune the north Indian palate to the stronger South Indian tastes and smells. Unfortunately, here too, in this last bastion of old-fashioned middle-class India, that elusive connection with the past is missing: the coffee tastes of tepid dishwater and the vadas are stone cold. With some misgivings, I gaze at a moth-eaten poster of Padmini, a film actress of yester-years, assuring me she loves her morning cup of coffee. Disconsolately, I swivel around to gaze out of the casement windows. The view outside, however, is as stunning as the ones kept safe in the storehouse of my memory. The setting sun has clothed the mountain ridges with the most luscious hues of apricot, peach and vermillion. The sonorous sound of temple bells wafts up from the Lower Bazar; God is in His heaven and all seems right with the world. However, a short walk along the Mall soon disabuses me of any good will towards this deflowered Queen of the Hills that the spectacular sunset may has generated. The olde order has changeth; yielding place to a new that is coarse, chaotic and crass.

I return to the Institute hoping something here will rekindle old memories in all their pristine glory. Built from 1884-88 as a home for the then-Viceroy Lord Dufferin, the Vice Regal Lodge is a delightful mix of Elizabethan and Scottish architectural styles and motifs. Its statuesque proportions, its turrets and towers, chandelier-lit passages, solid oakwood furniture, majestic staircases, as well as the stunning view commanded by its location on the Observatory Hill combine to make it one of the finest surviving relics of the raj. After independence, it became the Presidential retreat but upon the philosopher-academic-president Dr Radhakrishnan’s suggestion, it was turned into an institution of higher learning and the President’s retreat was shifted to Chharabra, on the outskirts of Shimla. Inaugurated in October 1965, it was envisaged as a haven of intellectual freedom, an experiment in intellectual autonomy.

However, a paucity of funds has prompted the Institute to permit – for a ticket of Rs 50 each -- busloads of tourists to tramp through its historic premises. Home to several meetings and conferences of national and international significance -- notable among these being: the Shimla Accord of 1914 to negotiate the status of Tibet; and the Shimla Conference of 1945 between the Viceroy Archibald Wavell and political leaders such as Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, Nehru, Jinnah, Azad, Tiwana and Tara Singh – there is history at every footstep. Guided tours take gawping visitors across its carved grey Himalayan stone exteriors, through its wood-panelled stairways and corridors, past gilded mirrors and ornate fireplaces; their flashing cameras, high-pitched chatter and ringing cellphones jarring in the stillness of this scholarly retreat. Worse still are the monkeys that are vicious, aggressive and everywhere! Once to be found largely in the vicinity of Jakhoo Hill which had an ancient temple devoted to Lord Hanuman and where, to please the deity, visitors fed the monkeys that had occupied this hilltop for generations, this simian menace has swamped the entire mountain range.

One can walk among the many winding pug-dandies that spill out from the Institute – some going down to the tiny bazar of Boileuganj (pronounced Balooganj by coolie and scholar alike), others towards the cottages that dot the 100-acres of densely-wooded mountain slopes – only with a stout stick or a sturdy fellow scholar. For, the monkeys are known to get up close and personal, especially with lady visitors whom, they have rightly guessed, are more easily intimidated. I visit my old home, Dellville, and find it overgrown with weeds, rundown and a far cry from the romantic cottage that nestled in my memory. Evidently, the resource crunch is everywhere.

I come down the mountain to my home in the plains, reciting this fragment that my grandfather was fond of reciting:

Tuk dekh liya, dil shad kiya, khush waqt huye aur chal nikle.

 (The occasion was to read a paper entitled   ‘Songs for all Seasons: The Oral Tradition in Urdu Literature’, 10-12 October 2011, International Seminar on Orality: Word, Text and Beyond, Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla.)

Transcript of my webchat on IBN Live

Following is the complete transcript of my live chat on IBN Live on 28 October at 5.30 pm. The discussion was pegged on my new book Release & Other Stories published by Harper Collins.

http://ibnlive.in.com/chat/rakhshanda-jalil/everyday-lives-of-indian-muslims/728.html

Q
What is the reason behind the poor condition of Indian muslims. What can be done to improve it ?
Asked by: Akshat

A
I am no expert on Indian Musims. I am only a writer. But I think education may hold the key. It may open doors that will lead to general advancement. With education, come a lot of other things such as employment, financial indepndence, integration with other commmunities, social skills, better health and hygiene standards and upward mobility. So while there might be a lot of reasons, what needs tobe done now to improve things is I suppose graeter opportunities for education. Let the government's motto be: education for all Muslims!

Q
we r insecure citizens in india if i hv beard or having unshaved face then im on d scanner y? y nt sikhs with katars in hands a weapon?
Asked by: safder

A
There are insecure and ignorant people everywhere -- not just in India. In India, we have witnessed some of the worst atrocities committed against sikhs shortly after MRs Indira Gandhi's assassination. I live in delhi. I remember those grisly images quite vvidly. Moreover, Sikhs in America were roughed up after the Obama busines. I wd urge you not to make comparisons. Remember, many people have suffered because of teh ignorance and short-sightedness of just a handful. You have answered your own question in a way by using the word insecure. It is insecurity that is at the root of such stupididty.

Q
Rakshanda, don't you think that ordinary, everyday life of Indian Muslim is no different than that of any other person be that may Hindu, Sikh or Christian? Yes, the quality of his life can be improved if the litercy level is better.
Asked by: Sham Vadalkar

A
I have addressed this qs in one of my previous answers. To recapitualte, what I have said is precsiely what u r suggesting. In a couple of my stories, if u take away exeternal markers of identity such as names, some of the stories could be abt any Indians, not just Muslims. In response to another qs, I have said that education is a great leveller. I agree education can improve quality of life for all Indians, including Muslims of course because they have for a long time occupied the bottom of the literacy pyramid.

Q
Doesn't Islam talk about heaven for all muslims and hell for anyone else? How can such exclusivist thinking encourage respect for all religions?
Asked by: Ananth

A
Such ideas can only come from ignorance! I think you need to read up a little more on Islam. This is precisely the sort of stereotyped, inaccurate, handed-down ideas about Islam and Muslims that I have been chaffing against all my adult life.

Q
Hi Rakshanda, I feel that it is always good to read books that are non-fictitious (real lives, educatives etc) rather than cooked up ones. I had a little dispute with another writer in the previous chat session here. That author says that fiction books are more useful than the other ones. What do you say about this apart from the answer 'it varies with perception' ?
Asked by: Swaroop

A
I can't dispute your choice of reading material' Each to his own. as a reader, I like both fiction and non-fiction. But when it comes to writing -- and I have written more non-fiction than fiction -- I can say that fiction is a highly privilged space. It allows the writer to say a great deal more. I wont use the word 'useful' becaise I personally never read 'useful' fiction, but certainly fiction allows you to say much more in a more memorable, more enjoyable, more imaginative way.Since I don't go looking for the educational element in my choice of reading material, I fortunately dont have this problem. For isntance, on Diwali day, I was re-reading (for the nth time) one of the P G Wodehuse books. Now what can be less useful than that? But how delightfully readable it is even after so many readings?

Q
The "ordinary" Muslim suffers in day to day life because of a few who have caused terror. Will this fear and notion of Muslims being "questionable" ever go away from our society?
Asked by: Saif

A
One lives in hope for it is truly terrible to be without hope. By living transparent lives, by holding one's head with dignity, by gaining confidence through education and empowerment, I think we can hopefully shed the 'questionable' tag. I think education is a great leveller. It brings you t par with your peers where fewer questions are asked. I don't say no questions are asked if you are an affluent or educated Muslims. No, unfortuantely, there are enough examples of random harrassment caused to people at airports and in other ways simply because they happen to have a Muslim name. But knowing your rights helps. Knowing that you are not to blame for other people's wrongs helps.

Q
"Everyday lives of Indian Muslims" what does it mean to you??
Asked by: azan

A
I think the ordinariness of the Indian Muslims gets overlooked everytime they are treated as the 'other'. Reactions vary from patronising to exoticising. In some of my stories, I have deliberetately cast them in such a way that if you change the names of some of the characters (names that are pointers to their Muslim identity), they could be stories about any Indians. In one particular story -- The Stalker -- there are no names. Only the daughter's name -- Nida -- gives a clue that this family might be Muslim. I have placed this family in a situation that can happen to anybody. That is alos the point I am trying to make .... yes, some of these characters are Muslims but they are ordinary Indians too. All Indians have multiple identities -- we are Tamil Brahmins, Kashmiri pandits, and so on. In my case , I am an Indian Muslim. I see no conflict in having more than one identity.

Q
What you want to convey from this topic "Everyday lives of Indian Muslims"?
Asked by: Sahil Makkar

A
I think I have addressed this question a short while ago in response to one of the early posts.

Q
Why are there so many religions? Why do we creating more diversity? Why Indian Muslims/Christians/Hindus? I believe that what ever way people follow to worship God is their own personal thing. I made my own religion, Its called "Oneness". Is it possible to implement it?
Asked by: yashwanth

A
Good for you! I am happy for you. But I think religions are a fact of life. I dont think they must necessarily divide; ideally, they ought not to. In fact, the way secularism is enshrined in our Constitution it allows us the freedom to practise our (different) religions. Ideally, if we did so in our personal space there should be no problem. I think secularism doesnot mean the absence of religion; instead, it means respect for diversity. As to why have so many religions? I think each shows a path that leads to a higher One. the debate on religion and rationlity is an old one. I am not equipped to get into it. What I can say for myself is that my own deep-seated belief in Islam is in no way incompatible with my respect for all religions.

Q
Do you plan to write a full-fledged novel anytime soon?
Asked by: Ashish

A
Yes. Actually, I'd love to. I have a sketchy idea of what it might be. I have a collection of 'ingredients': a family that has fallen on hard times, a sister who is left behind in a large rundown home, a brother who lives abroad and sends erratic sums of money for their upkeep, the deep sense of mourning that enevelops the sisiter's life for the many missed opportunities. I want to locate the story in a Shia Muslim family in one of the smaller, more obscure qasbahs of UP.

Q
How did you collect all these information?
Asked by: ataul haque

A
By living life for 48 years!!! Seriously, one writes from what one has seen or experienced or believed in. Fiction allows you to create characters by mixing up parts of peple you may have known and through them convey larger truths about life and people. Sometimes, you invent characters because a situation demands it but somewhere, even in the invention, you as a writer are drawing upon life. I do believe life is teh greatest teacher. Everyday you learn something new. Fiction allows you to dip into your mixed bag of knowledge and bring out something that will, hopefully, mean something to at least some of your readers. To answer your question more directly, if you read the story called "The Strange Man" in my book, the woman in teh roadside cafe is me; thats how i -- as you put it -- "collect" my information. She describes her favourite pastime as people-watching. Well, its mine too. I love to observe people, take in a situation, just look at things.

Q
ASAK Rasshanda.. What exactly covers your book ?
Asked by: ARIF

A
If I were asked to describe my own stories I would say they are about life as I have seen it at first hand. That many of my characters happen to be Indi Muslims I would say it is because I am one my self! Moreover, I am a proud member of the Indian middle class and that also gets reflected in my stories. I hope that answers your qs; if not, i would strongly urge you to read the stories yourself !!!

Q
what is the difference between indian muslims & pakistan muslims?
Asked by: GK

A
They are essentially different; they are Indians and Pakistanis primarily. That they are Muslims too is a different matter. Of course, some of them may share certian cultural ties. Those who have migrated from parts of India may retain and thus share similarities of language, culture or cuisine. Those from certain provinces or specific geographical areas may remember things, such as what they ate during the summer months or how they felt when the first monsoon showers fell upon parched land . I mean that sort of collective memory. I have listed what they might or might not share. It is impossible to list the differences;they are too many because of political reasons and the choices made by history. At a theological level, all Muslims are part of a l;arger umma. The notion of surrender is something all Muslims share be it Muslims from India or Africa or Indonesia.

Q
Madam, Nowadays, there is a general notion in society that all terrorists are Muslims (thanks to the rampant terror attacks). That is not true. Terrorists have no religion. How, in your book, have you addressed this issue without hurting anyone's sentiments?
Asked by: Sanjay

A
You are right: terrorists have no religion. Though the media, and popular perception, seems to often take two separate words -- Muslim and Fundamentalists -- in the same breath thus causing the entirely wrong assumption that (all) Muslims are fundamentalists and by extension terrorists. Bioth assumptions are equally wrong. In my stories in this collection, I have addressed the issue of terrorism and the singling out of Muslims post 9/11 in an ablique way... by inserting it in a larger narrative. In one story I have talked about bombs going off in a city; but I have taken no names and pointed no fingers. Some day in the future, I want t address the issue more directly. Hopefully, in the next batch of stories I shall publish.

Q
Would like to say only one thing about such a chat topic. More the merrier.
Asked by: Abhijit Chatterjee

A
I tink the topic deserves to be addressed with all the humour and poise and honesty one can gather. I think the lives or ordinary Muslims needs to be talked about. We are as 'normal' as everybody else!

Q
rakshanda, what is the funniest stereotype that u have heard or come accross vis a vis Indian muslims
Asked by: shagufta k

A
The funniest by far is the qs that has actualy been asked to me several times: "Do u guys take a bath only once a month?" Next, I guess would be: "What does your mother wear?" I usually answer:"Leaves".

Ale Ahmad Suroor -- Centenary Celebrations

A nation’s social and intellectual history can be reconstructed by the life and work of its men of letters. Ale Ahmad Suroor (1911-2002), a major literary voice in the Indian sub-continent, was witness to the most tumultuous and most exciting part of the nation-building project. His long innings as a poet, prose stylist, literary critic and teacher bear testimony to a time when learning was not gleaned from books alone but distilled, drop by drop, from the press of life and living. His centenary, on 10 October, was marked by the inauguration of an exhibition devoted to his life and career at the National Archives of India.

Over 20,000 books, 400 original letters including those from Allama Iqbal, Maulana Azad, Dr Zakir Husain, Munshi Premchand, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, M F Husain, among others, as well as original nuskhe of ancient manuscripts from his family home in Badayun, medals, awards, artefacts, documents and rare photographs donated by his family to the country’s premier holding of archival material. Rare volumes of Tahzibul Akhlaq by Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, entire volumes of Funoon, Nuqoosh, Shabkhoon, bound editions of Maulana Azad’s Al-Hilal, correspondence related to the Anjuman-e-Tarraqui-e-Urdu (Hind) which he headed for many years, make this collection a literary historian’s delight. Inaugurated by the eminent Urdu critic, Prof Gopichand Narang, the opening of the public exhibition was followed by the First Suroor Lecture, also delivered by Prof Narang. A week earlier, the National Council for the Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL) brought out an omnibus edition of Suroor sahab’s four volumes of poetry to mark the birth centenary celebrations

Born in the historic city of Budayun (for which it has been said that if you were to stand at any crossroad and toss a pebble, it is sure to strike a poet -- or two!), he had sipped the heady wine from a very early age. His pen-name, Suroor, was appropriate yet brim-full of delicious irony for a teetotaller. Characteristically, he once wrote:

In our time there was less wine but more ecstasy

In your time you have far more to drink, but still less rapture.

Poetry, Suroor sahab maintained, is not the language of 2+2=4; nor is it necessarily the opposite of prose, but something that runs parallel. In the Epilogue to his autobiography, Khwab Baqui Hain, he wrote:

‘Good poetry should illumine the mind; it should refresh the known and familiar and familiarize that which is fresh and invigorating. With its peculiar and unique use of language, its multi-layered allusions, its play on words, its capacity to contain a river in a goblet, poetry brings us closer to life, its many-splendored, magical, sweeping, often-contradictory selves. In doing so it makes us more sensitive, more sentient … Poetry does not bring about revolutions; it creates the right environment for upheavals in the mind. It is not a sword, but a lancet.’

Suroor sahab’s own poetry had none of the wild passion and rebellion that marked much of the poetry of Urdu progressive writers – with whom he was a fellow-traveller in the early, less trenchant days --  especially the poetry written in free-verse. Like beauty, he believed, poetry too had a thousand faces. In contrast to his vastly erudite and extremely scholarly critical writings, his ghazals and nazms have a sweet simplicity and a melodious, distinctly non-cerebral quality. Where his scholarly work is written from the head and appeals to reason and good sense and learning, his poetry is written from the heart. It is insightful, instinctive, and completely inornate. However, despite early critical and popular acclaim, he left behind only three collections (the fourth, entitled Lafz was published posthumously by his daughter, Mehjabeen Jalil, who is presently putting together a collection of his gharelu nazmein comprising saalgirah, mehndi, rukhsati, sehra, etc. for his children and grandchildren), as against a pile of prose writings. Why would a man so enthralled by the magic of words, so enraptured by the ‘rhythmical creation of beauty’ be so circumspect? In his own words:

Yes, I have kept lambent the flame of my longing

Knowing full well the hopelessness of desire

Suroor sahab’s poetry enriched his criticism and his criticism nourished his poetry. Both were rooted in his vast and varied reading of Indian and Western literatures. Single-handedly, Suroor sahab took the Urdu writer as also the Urdu critic out of his self-referential web and taught him to work not in isolation but in tandem with the great literatures of the world. Among his contemporaries he was the most balanced, moderate yet far-seeing. He wanted to go forward and experiment, taking along all that was the best and brightest from his own tradition, culture and values. A critic and writer, he believed, should never be put into neat pigeonholes such as progressive, Marxist, realist, surrealist or whatever happened to be the latest critical theory or fad. In Khwab Baqui Hain, he says:

‘The use of literary terms is inevitable in literary criticism. However, a critic’s language must, at all times, be accessible and unpretentious. Criticism takes the help of science but it is not a science; it is a branch of literature. It need not be the professional pursuit of university dons, nor an industry that caters to a limited group. Nor is its purpose solely to provide mental stimulation to a distinct circle of individuals. At its best, it ought to nurture the mind and inculcate a respect for human values.’

Tanquidii Ishare, his first collection of critical writing published in 1942, was followed in quick succession by Nai Aur Purane Chiragh (1946), Tanquid Kya Hai (1947), Adab aur Nazariya (1954), Jadidiyat aur Adab (1967), Nazar aur Nazariya (1973), and Masarrat se Basirat Tak (1974), thus earning him a formidable reputation as one of the most well-regarded voices to emerge from the Urdu-speaking world. Some of his other significant writings include: Iqbal aur Unka Falsafa, Iqbal: Nazar aur Shairi, Urdu aur Hindustani Tehzeeb, Urdu Mein Danishvari ki Riwayat, Iqbal, Faiz aur Hum, Iqbal ki Ma‘naviyat, Kuch Khutbe Kuch Maqale, Danishvar Iqbal, Fikr-e-Roshan, Pehchan aur Parakh, Urdu Tehrik, and Afkar ke Diye.

His most fruitful years were as Professor and Head of the Urdu Department at Aligarh. He loved to teach, to give freely of all that he himself knew and cherished. Apart from a brief stint as Visiting Professor at the University of Chicago, he worked untiringly for the Anjuman Taraqqi-e Urdu, the Sahitya Akademi and the government-sponsored Board for the Promotion of Urdu. This was followed by a Fellowship at the Institute of Advanced Studies, Shimla, and his last office as Director, Iqbal Institute at the University of Kashmir. His most valued contribution remains in the field of Iqbaliyat. At a time when Iqbal was reviled in India as the anti-national, pro-Pakistan poet, Suroor sahab brought the focus back on Iqbal the poet through several revisionist studies on him, the poet revered by many as a visionary touched by the celestial Muse.

Awards and encomiums followed in abundant measure: the Uttar Pradesh Urdu Akademi Award, Delhi Urdu Akademi Award, Sahitya Akademi Award, a gold medal by the President of Pakistan for services to Urdu literature, Ghalib Modi Award, topped by the Padam Bhushan and the Iqbal Samman. Never one to rest on his laurels, Suroor Sahab wrote and read and reflected. On his seventy-fifth birthday he wrote:

Sitare maand hote hain to suraj bi to ugte hain

Yeh saaye mera kya lenge, qaba hi to chura lenge

In the revised edition of his autobiography, he wrote,

‘I am a Musalman and, in the words of Maulana Azad, “caretaker of the thirteen hundred years of the wealth that is Islam.” My deciphering of Islam is the key to the interpretation of my spirit. I am also an Indian and this Indianness is as much a part of my being. Islam does not deter me from believing in my Indian identity. Again, to quote Maulana Azad, if anything “it shows the way”...’

In revisiting his legacy in this year that marks his centenary, we in India would do well to pay heed to his words.

(An Abridged version of this article appeared in The Friday Times, Lahore, 28 October, 2011.)