My op-ed published in the NEWS yesterday

The debate on the scrapping of Musharraf’s devolution experiment cannot hide or ignore two key imperatives. First, that all military dictators have a penchant for local democracy at the expense of provincial autonomy and the country’s parliamentary structure. Second, never has Pakistan been so vulnerable to state’s fragmentation and erosion of trust in public institutions. This is why the elected government, with bipartisan consensus, has proceeded to restructure the 2002 Local Government Ordinances.

But, the debate remains obsessed with the district management group (DMG), a cadre that is a much weaker and tainted inheritor of administrative structures instituted by the Mughal and British empires. Therefore, the proposed restoration of executive magistracy has been termed yet another big conspiracy by the supposedly powerful DMG, which allegedly has influenced the political elites to revive the colonial institution of the district magistrate. The simple question is if the DMG were so powerful, it would have saved its field structure and magistracy nearly a decade ago. (more…)

A popular kafi of Bulleh Shah, sung by Abida Parveen “BULHE NU SAMJHAWAN AAINAN BHAINAN TE BHARJAIAN” earlier posted as ” A stove is better than Bulleh” am posting its english translation thanks to Shahidain’s invaluable contributions.

People discouraged Bulleh Shah from accepting  Inayat Shah as his master and said ” Bulleh you are a scholar and a descendent of of prophet Mohammad (pbuh). Does it seem right to you to go to an ordinary gardener of low caste and become his disciple? Is it not embarrassing?” But Bulleh showed great love and reverence for his master and did not pay any heed to this objection. (more…)

I was recently asked to write where I would spend my summer. For a few minutes I kept my anguish at Pakistan’s situation aside and wrote the following lines for the NEWS. Indulgent and nostalgic, it was fun nevertheless.

Hackneyed as it may sound but Murree remains my favourite destination for the summer.

Alas, the luxury of spending months at the alluring foothills of Himalayas is no longer available with the day-jobs, and other commitments. But there was a time, over a decade ago, when I lived in Murree for three glorious years. It was May when I moved there with a wild rose bush joyously waving with the (more…)

My new piece for The Friday Times

South Asian history is a tale of capitulation of local elites before external invaders. Be it the Aryans, the Mongols or East India Company officials, we have always relented, and sometimes quite painlessly. This is an area of history that remains less explored as it conflicts with the grand narratives of ‘resistance’ and nationalist myths we love to construct.S

A phrase locked into our cultural memory – Hunooz Dilli Door Ast (Delhi is as yet far away) explains this historical pattern. It has become a metaphor for the insularity of the elites and the powerlessness of the common people. The complacency that Delhi, the capital of the Islamic empire was not accessible to the hordes of invaders, was the tragic reaction by debauched kings, local Rajas and their henchmen who were either men of straw or active collaborators. (more…)

Changing mindsets by SYED ALI NAQVI

One might cry out, humanity is dead if there was any, in disgust and disbelief after going through the events of the partition of the subcontinent. It is hard to believe that hatred and instinctual savagery can derive men to the edge of morality. Politics, religious bias and ethnicity do have the poison to make men so vulnerable that they get ready to put everything at stake.
Partition of the Indian subcontinent is seen as one of the most brutal and unfortunate events in the world history. There are incidents of mass murder by every religious and ethnic community of each other as well as rapes and abductions of women, looting and separation of families during the (more…)

Na mai sussi
Na mai sohni
Na mai heer sayal
phair we sajna
dil kyouN mera
Ja lagayaa teray naal (more…)

Dr Manzur Ejaz writing for the TFT

According to myth, if perfectly sung by a master, the classical raga Malkauns can set a river on fire. And if you want a description of Malkauns personified, it would be the tall red-eyed jogi or Ustad Chote Ghulam Ali Khan. In a freshly laundered, blazing white and starched kurta-pajama, Khan Sahib was a well dressed and handsome man even in old age. Despite his appearance, Khan Sahib was at heart a jogi who had wandered and meditated in the limitless jungle of classical music his entire life.

Both Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Chote Ghulam Ali Khan belong to this gharana. They were cousins with identical names but because one was older he was known as precisely that, Bade, and the younger as Chote. The classical singers of the Qasur gharana are sometimes called “Qasur kay qawwal bankay” (children of Qasur qawwals) because their forefathers were traditional qawwals at the shrine of Baba Bulleh Shah.

Khan Sahib worked hard to enhance Samina Hussain Syed’s skills in classical music because she had a very powerful, deep and melodious voice that constitutes the core of a classical singer. In fact, she had more potential than anyone else in the world of music at that time. Khan Sahib knew her potential and that is why he would come daily for her training; it was never just for the money.

Akhtari Bai Faizabadi, whom Khan Sahib romanced (more…)

Delhi based writer Tridivesh Singh Maini sent this piece that was published here

The Indo-Pak relationship has been so enmeshed in political issues – mostly disputes – that often both countries tend to neglect important developments which facilitate cultural cooperation between them. Foreign ministries in both countries are engrossed in thinking of CBM’s, though if one were to look, not much progress has been made with regard to educational and cultural exchanges. Meanwhile, a Washington-based non-profit organisation named APNA, (Academy of the Punjab in North America) has taken a significant step — publishing a quarterly Punjabi magazine by the name of Saanjh (which means commonality in this context) in both Gurmukhi, the Punjabi script used in East Punjab), and Shahmukhi, the script used in West Punjab. (more…)

Shahidain has sent these couplets

Main NeevaaN Mera Murshid Uccha
Main UcchiyaaN naal sang laayee

I am lowly my spiritual guide is lofty!
I have tied my fate to such lofty ones!

—————————————

Bulleh naaloN chullaah changaa
jis te ann pakaaee daa
ral faqeera majlas keetee
bhora bhora khaaee daa

A stove is better than Bulleh
because at least you can cook food on it
Saints sit together to eat
and share their food with each other.

My friend Sidhusaaheb across the border wrote these poignant lines some months ago – just discovered these musings in my files:

A little less than two years ago, I visited Pakistan along with my family. This was a unique experience, not only for me, but also for my parents and younger brother. None of us had been to that country before and, given the mercurial relationship between India and Pakistan, it is always difficult to say as to when or if at all there would be a next time.

Being Punjabis visiting the part of Punjab that lies on the other side of the border, we were glad to note that almost everything, apart from the religious faith that most people practise over there, is very similar to that in the Indian part of Punjab. There were a lot of interesting asides too, in addition to a heavy dose of nostalgia and a nice, warm kind of feeling inspired by the shared Punjabiyat.

So, when we returned home, after having spent ten days that were among the most memorable ones of our lives, enjoying the neighbours’ hospitality, I wanted to share the experience with friends and family. I would have written a series of emails to them, but then I discovered blogging and it offered the prospect of not only sharing a lot of all that I had seen and heard with a lot more people, but, possibly, could also afford me the chance to make a tiny contribution towards the promotion of peace and friendship. So, here we are!

And these are the lines he wrote on another blog:

“… the only time the West hears of the borders you speak of is when there’s fighting. This leaves the impression that all that exists is violence. We know this not to be true, of course, but every message of peace, understanding, acceptance and tolerance counts massively.”

Indeed Sidhu-ji, it does!

Read the full post here and enjoy….

The annual Urs of Bulleh Shah, the Punjabi mystic poet, commenced yesterday in Kasur yesterday. Bulleh’s poetry reflected his rejection of orthodox hold of mullahs over Islam, the nexus between the clergy and the rulers and all the trappings of formal religion that created a gulf between man and his Creator. A common theme of his poetry is the pursuit of self-knowledge that is essential for the mystical union with the Beloved. Among Bulleh’s timeless verse, I love this one (more…)

South Asian Cooperation and the Role of the Punjabs. Tridivesh Singh Maini. New Delhi: Siddharth Publications , 2007 

South Asian Cooperation and the Role of the Punjabs is a book that approaches the topic of conflict resolution with a difference. Trividesh Singh Maini’s book does not approach peaceful cooperation from the normative security framework. Nor, for that matter, does the author take the increasingly emergent economic approach to conflict resolution despite the fact that the book’s content deals with the subject of regional cooperation. Alternatively, Maini’s book helps its reader understand the dynamics of cooperation and peace among members of the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation or SAARC (India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan, Afghanistan and the island nations of Sri Lanka and Maldives) by presenting a cultural analysis.

This use of culture is persuasive. The author posits himself and his book as scholarship that thinks outside the bureaucratic box of normal research on South Asia with its vested interests in the region to reveal the “emotional” trajectory of cooperation that is occurring in this region. Using culture to support his thesis, Maini illustrates for the reader various cultural exchanges between two cities, Amritsar in East Punjab in India and Lahore in West Punjab in Pakistan. These include visits to religious shrines, literary exchanges and especially recent transportation events such as the initiation of bus services to help people meet their relatives on the other side of the border. (more…)

Amrita Pritam never woke up on the afternoon of October 31, 2005 and the world is emptier without her musings. She embodied the fullness of poetic expression, creativity and the intensity of a woman in the perpetual state of love. Amrita’s voice was rooted in the South Asian idiom with all its contradictions, diversity and a faint recognition of fate. Her remarkable affinity with the depths of the Punjabi language adds to her iconoclastic status in India, Pakistan and wherever Punjabi is spoken and appreciated. Yet her audience has been global as well: her work was translated into dozens of world languages.

One of her poems makes the following confession:

Today I have erased the number of my house
And removed the stain of identity on my street’s forehead
And I have wiped the direction on each road
But if you really want to meet me
Then knock at the doors of every country
Every city, every street
And wherever a glimpse of a free spirit exists
That will be my home
(translation by author)

Through the course of her life, this free spirit generated controversy but she never concerned herself with the mundane. Outspoken, prolific and deeply spiritual, Amrita existed within self-defined, non-conformist parameters. She lived with her partner for 41 years, shunned religious and sectarian identities and rejected the political divide of the left and right:

No absolutes for something as relative as a human life
No rules for something so tender as a heart..

Amrita was born in 1919 in the Gujranwala district and educated in Lahore. Her first collection of poetry, Amrit Lehran (Ripples of Nectar) was published in 1936 when she was hardly 17. By the early 1940s, five collections of her poetry had been published. However, it was in the tragic turn of events during Partition that Amrita’s poetic genius found the real groundswell of expression. Her meteoric fame is often ascribed to the masterpiece poem “Aj Aakhaan Waris Shah Nu” when a neo-Heer emerged on the literary landscape of the Punjab during the 1947 trauma. This poem, addressed to Waris Shah  the author of the Punjabi epic of immortal love, Heer Ranjha summed up the anguish of millions, particularly women in the Punjab who suffered a disproportionate share of the tragedy.

I say to Waris Shah today, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love
Once one daughter of Punjab wept, and you wrote your long saga;
Today thousands weep, calling to you Waris Shah:
Arise, o friend of the afflicted; arise and see the state of Punjab,
Corpses strewn on fields, and the Chenaab flowing with much blood.
Someone filled the five rivers with poison,
And this same water now irrigates our soil.
Where was lost the flute, where the songs of love sounded?
And all Ranjha’s brothers forgot to play the flute.
Blood has rained on the soil, graves are oozing with blood,
The princesses of love cry their hearts out in the graveyards.
Today all the Quaidos have become the thieves of love and beauty,
Where can we find another one like Waris Shah?
Waris Shah! I say to you, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love.
(Translation by Darshan Singh Maini) (more…)

Who I am

I know not who I am,
I am neither a believer going to the mosque
Nor given to non-believing ways.
Neither clean nor unclean,
Neither Moses nor Pharaoh.
I know not who I am.

I am neither among sinners nor among saints,
Neither happy nor unhappy,
I belong neither to water nor to earth.
I am neither fire nor air,
I know not who I am.

Neither do I know the secret of religion,
Nor am I born of Adam and Eve.
I have given myself no name,
I belong neither to those who squat and pray,
Nor to those who have gone astray.
I know not who I am.

I was in the beginning; I’d be there in the end.
I know not any one other than the One.
Who could be wiser than Bulleh Shah
Whose Master is ever there to tend?
I know not who I am.

Come my Love, take care of me

Come my Love, take care of me,
I am in great agony.
Ever separated, my dreams are dreary,
Looking for you, my eyes are weary.
All alone I am robbed in a desert,
Waylaid by a bunch of waywards.

The Mulla and Qazi show me the way,
Their maze of dharma that is in sway.
They are the confirmed thieves of time.
They spread their net of saintly crime.

Their time-worn norms are seldom right,
With these they chain my feet so tight!
My love cares not for caste or creed.
To the ritual faith I pay no head.

My Master lives on yonder bank
While I am caught in the gale of greed.
With his boat at anchor, He stands in wait,
I must hasten I can’t be late.

Bulleh Shah must find his love,
He needn’t have the least fright.
His Love is around, yet he looks for him
Misled in the broad daylight.

Come my love take care of me,
I am in great agony.

**************

Strange are the times!

Crows swoop on hawks
Sparrows do eagles stalk
Strange are the times!

The Iraqis are despised
While the donkeys are prized
Strange are the times!

Those with coarse blankets are kings;
The erstwhile kings watch them from the ring.
Strange are the times!

Its not without reason or rhyme,
Strange are the times

Says Bulleh, kill your ego
And throw away your pride.
You need to forget yourself
To find Him by your side.

It’s all in One contained

Understand the One and forget the rest.
Shake off your ways of an apostate pest.
Leading to the grave to hell and torture,
Rid your mind of dreams of disaster.
This is how is the argument maintained,
It’s all in One contained.

What use is it bowing one’s head?
To what avail has prostrating led?
Reading Kalma you make them laugh,
Absorbing not a word while the Quran you quaff.
The truth must be here and there sustained,
It’s all in One contained.

Some retire to the jungles in vain.
Others restrict their meals to a grain.
Misled they waste away unfed
And come back home half alive, half dead.
Emaciated in the ascetic postures feigned,
it’s all in One contained,

Seek your master, say your prayers and surrender to God,

It will lead you to mystic abandon
And help you to get attuned to the Lord.
It’s all the truth that Bulleh has gained.
It’s all in One contained.

Bulleh Shah, a renowned Muslim spiritual leader of the sub continent of Indo-Pakistan, was a Punjabi Sufi poet. His spiritual master was Shah Inayat Qadiri of Lahore and because of this Bulleh was referred to as a saint or spiritual leader. Bulleh’s real name was Abdullah Shah, but he was known as Bulleh to his family and that was the name he chose to use as a poet. (more…)

In a story entitled Punjab grants divine man obscene rights, Hamid Asghar of DAWN had written this report about the way the Sufi descendants of today can use their influence. I had saved the story and forgot where I had saved it. Today, I stumbled upon it. And, here it is – this is why the Sufis and their shrines are a target of negative comments.

GUJAR KHAN: That a divine man wants to drive in style in our VIP culture would not surprise many, but that the government helps him in the obscenity would.

That is how the local traffic police felt when it stopped a car for travelling with hooter blaring and blue light flashing on its roof and was confronted with a carte blanche in the form of an official letter addressed To Whom It May Concern.

The flashing light was just one sign that the car belonged to Badshah Ghosia Qalandar Baba Sarkar. His eminence were also proclaimed through a green flag, with Kalima on it, flying from the bonnet and Allah-o-Akbar and 786 emblazoned on either side of the personalised Ghospak green number plate. (more…)