Author Archives: Naim Naqvi

Apr
01
2013

Yari Hai Iman Mera Yar Meri Zindagi

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Akhtar Jamal Rizvi Taqvi is the first Genuine ‘Chartered Accountant’ of Sadat-e-Amroha
He barged into my life with a bamboo pole on his shoulder, to which was hooked a POTLI of fresh TAPKAS (ripe mangoes), under the shadows of Jama Masjid Minars of Sahfat Pota. He was returning after an excursion trip a sunny day from his ancestral mango orchard located at Fazalpur. He lowered the stick, opened the potli and took out few mangoes. “Lo dost tapka khao.” And those few words and the gesture sealed our friendship that weathered through all the winds of time. It was in 1958. Then years rolled by; he progressed with his studies and I with my idiosyncrasies. He went to Aligarh Muslim University for higher studies and I found my good time in Arya Samaj Mandir’s lectures, Vivekanada, banks or Kushak, Panwari Vasudev Teirth and some time under the bridge of dry River Sot as I bunked the classes and skipped the college.

Jamal appeared again in life and this time he was not alone. My whole family conspired against the peace and tranquility that I was enjoying. As jealous they were with my contentment, they dig out some of my earlier mark sheets that accidently had some good marks.

Jamal took me to AMU and we landed around 11.30 P.M. for the first time at Aligarh Station. While leaving the station I saw a nice girl spreading all over the floor in the most innocent display the beauty that the nature could have ever vouchsafed at that place. I stopped and Jamal moved to look for the rickshaw. Ages passed in that clinically close observation of an object that was unaware of the most penetrating glances. I woke up out from the magical spell when someone pulled me by the hair (once upon a time I had a full black crown of curlier waves).

“Jahan kuch deekha aour line lagana chalu….” He shouted, pulled me, pushed me into the welcome arms of rickshaw which had very well defined spikes. Leaving an idiot at the mercy of erudites he left me again. In Aligarh I played havoc with whatever did enter my domain or vice versa.

Much later Jamal again caught me at Ranjeet Hotel, New Delhi where a conference on Minority Character of AMU was being held. Sheikh Mohd Abdullah the original one, Ebraheem Suleman Sait, Salahuddin Owaisi, Dr Faridi, former Chief Justice Kalbe Abbas Saheb, Mohd Yusuf Saheb and almost all the dignitaries of Muslim community of that period were gracing the occasion. Being the Secretary of AMU Ali Society I was assigned, under the leadership of Late Mr. Jawed Habeeb, a prominent Alig, the responsibility of reception and comforts of the honorable guests.

How did Jamal managed to sneak into the reserved portals is a matter I never discussed with him. Having seen him there I tried to hide from his piercing eyed but he finally caught me.

“Too yahan kya kar raha hai bhai ? Too Aligarh parhne gaya that ya naeta geeri karne ?
“Are chilla mat yar. Sirf ek din ki aour baat hai aour is bar Aligarh jakar daba ke mehnat karni hai. Yar Qasam Se. Sachchi bhaiyee…is bar waqaiye parhna hi hai.”
He did finally come when I was doing Post Graduation, officially, but in fact I was wasting my time at Tasweer Mahal and Moulana Azad Library. He finally packed my bag and baggage and brought me to Tammu Nagar, a village in the suburbs of Delhi. It was in a hovel where he was staying for his CA studies.

“Tu zindagi men kuch naheen kar sakta isliye ab yehan tere liye main koi nokri dekhta hoon.”

We couldn’t find any job for me as I had proved to be cut out for nothing and no one would give me a job. I managed to find a muster-roll job, Rs 10.50 / – day, with the help of Bhai Vilaul Hasnain, the Executive Engineer at Badar Pur Power House.

I never looked back since then. Jamal touched the dazzling heights, as you can see with his biodata, in his career and I somehow managed to survive. Today, this one of the dearest friend of life is suffering from Retina Eye Problems. He is going to be operated on 4 th of April. I’m willing to give at least one of my eye but being a severe heart patient and several stunts in my body coupled with the SUGAR and Back aches the Doctors feel that nothing would be the worst choice than any of my donated organ.

Please pray God for his successful operation.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Apr
01
2013

Dor Peechey Ki Taraf Aiy Gardish-e-ayyam Too

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As it appeared at “We are Aligs” wall…

It was the first Shab-e-barat of my father away from home at the portals of ‘Khan Zaman Hostel’ Minto Circle, AMU Aligarh. Yes, it was Minto Circle and not ‘Syedana Tahir Saifuddin High School’ then. He was very fond of fireworks. Unfortunately my uncle who was a very tall handsome boy, very popular among all segments of society including the aristocratic Pardanasheens died young and my father, the only son ipso facto became the ‘apple of the eye’ of the family. He was much sought after and pampered child. His absence at such an auspicious festival was deeply felt by everyone in family, near relations and the Mohalla. He has left a few days back for Aligarh and my grandfather didn’t feel it prudent to give his affection the upper hand and call him back. It was if all by history and maths working in tandem, in the year 1927.

Discretion is better than valor and where there is will there is way. A rich collection of fire-works was gathered that included Anar, Falak Shigaph (batasha), Nar-al- Surra (narhi) and Raqqasa (chakai that flares upon flour in swift rouds). An attendant was arranged with a horse to take these Shab-e-barat Atankwad material to AMU. He arrived the AMU via Khurja as my grandfather had instructed him to buy some “Gajar ka Achar’ for my father from there. This whole story was narrated to us by my father, his friends and it’s a part of our family’s treasured history. Please forgive me for any exaggeration which is unintentional.

The hidden agenda of my grandfather, as the Sayees was told, to leave the horse at the hostel at the disposal of his son. Sayees tied the horse to the tree still graces the compound of Khan Zaman with some water, chane and fodder. The guest relaxed and waited for the warden. When the warden, as name referred vaguely was some Haseeb Saheb, arrived in the evening the messanger paid his respects and expressed the purpose of his visit and revealed the intentions of my grandfather. He said the warden – “Agar whan jagah ne ho mere dost Aftab ke doluat kadey par chale jana……….”

The soft and sophisticated warden got the first shock then relaxed. He gave a great smile and called the Monitor. First he confiscated the ATISHBAZI and gave it in the safe custody of monitor and instructed him not to give it to my father till the night of Shab-e-barat. “The fireworks would be played in my presence.” About keeping the horse and attendant at ‘Khan Zaman’, he appreciated the idea and wrote the following letter to my grandfather. The letter said:

“Janab Qiblaey Hajat wa Kaabeay maradat Syed Aley Ahmed Saheb dam Inayat-o-kum. Bad salam-o-niyaz ke wazeh ho keh harchand barkhurdar Ata Hussain ba-adab, munkasir mizaj aour honahar talib-e-ilm hain magar afsos taghaurryat waqt ne un tamam besh baha qadron ko pamal kar diya jo hamaraey azeem bahadur-o- dana peshrau qaim kar gaye the. Yaqeenan buzurg-e-mohatram ke ali zehan men dour-e- ‘Jamia Khiljiya’ aour ‘Madarsat-Kamali wa Jamali’ waqey Mehrauli, Delhi ke rayej dastoor rahe honge. Wahan talib-e-ilm Iran-o-Tooran-Faran se warid hote the aour Asp (horse) wa Khaddam unke saath hua karte the. Afsos woh riwayat sab ab dastan-e-parinah ho gayeen aour aaj ki haqeeqat yeh hai aksar nawabbin ke roshan chiraghon ko hostel ki jagah ki qillat ka saman hai. Mai mafi chahta hoon aour aapke namabar ko ba-halet-afsurdah wapis karta hoon. Ummeed hai huzur duaon men yad raken ge.
Khuda Nigehdar, Ahqar Haseeb ba muqam Khan Zaman Aligarh.
And now I add…………“Dor peechey kee taraf ay gardishe ayyam too

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Mar
30
2013

“Dard-e-dil Likhoon Kab Tak”

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Rukhsar Amrohvi, author of "Dard-e-dil Likhoon Kab TaK"

Rukhsar Amrohvi, author of “Dard-e-dil Likhoon Kab TaK”

“Aiyey aap se ek sachchi kahani keh den,
Hum pe jo beet chuki apni zabani keh den.”

“Dard-e-dil Likhoon Kabtak” is a collection of essays, memoires, poetry, impressions of Rukhsar Amrohvi, the worthy daughter of grand Producer Director Kamal Amrohvi who was himself a mile stone of Indian Film Industry, an institution unto himself. The book is written in the finest and chaste Urdu. It is a rich compendium of Urdu literature, a golden treasure of literary masterpieces – the letters of Kamal Amrohvi also to his daughter. Going through the letters of Kamal you will get a flavor of the famous letters written by our beloved Prime Minister Jawahar Lal Nehru to his daughter, our beloved Prime Minister, Indra Gandhi. There are some novel photographs that would add value to any collector’s flanks.

From Amir Khusro to Rukhsar Amrohvi this beautiful groom, the Urdu language, caparisoned different attires and took many shapes. The lovers of this beautiful damsel had given her several names: Hindi, Hindavi, Dakni, Lashkari, Rekhta and the last in this chronology is Urdu. Literature in Urdu grew at three different centres: Deccan, Delhi and Lucknow. Urdu is a melting pot of most of the Indian languages and the languages that were spoken in Islamic countries. It has words of Persian, Arabo-Persian and Sanskrit -derived Prakrit with a sprinkle of every Indian language. Ameer Khusrau, the famous sufi saint, poet, musician, inventor and warrior is supposed to be the father and ‘Khari Boli’ has adopted this baby of Khusrua as its own daughter. Born and brought in pure Indian environment it had taken the impact of Persian or Farsi somehow, the language of Kings and courtiers. Lapse of a century after his death Quli Qutab Shah was considered speaking a language that thought to have possibly been Urdu. It is interesting to learn that with the death of Emperor Aourengzeb, the use of Persian declined in Indian sub-continent. A new language was finding its entry in the towering shoes of Farsi. It was Urdu. Mohammed Shah ‘Rangeela’ another Moghal King helped to catapult this language to pedestal of National Language which effective replaced Persian. Shanshah Bahadur Shah Zafar gave respect to the language it deserved.

From the Mughals courts of Red Fort to the Mughals of Film Industry it was a journey that makes a beautiful but painful bumpy literary story. Sohrab Modi, K Asif and Kamal Amrohi are the few names that conjure up when we talk of Bollywood. Poetess Rukhsar Amrohvi is the only daughter, the beloved daughter and the real heir of Kamal Amrohvi’s creative artistic heritage. She is gifted with all those assets that could have made the indelible marks upon any field of film industry she would have chosen to embark. She used her discretion and decided to confine to literary side only. Name, fame, pomp and pelf, these were the part of life of the family life where Rukhsar opened her eyes. Rais Amrohvi and Jaun Elia as uncles, Meena Kumari as step-mother and Kamal Amrohvi as father, what else upon earth you need to define yourself.

Rukhsar Kamal Amrohi

Rukhsar Kamal Amrohi

Rushsar was so close to her father that even today he exists and beckons her at every turn of her life. She is a poet who speaks her heart without disturbing your rhythm. She shares her experiences as you move along. You are no longer a distant observer as the boat sails. When you read her poetry you both travel on the same wave length. She had a loaded and painful past and a lot to complain about. She doesn’t. She asks for understanding and not your sympathy.

“Be sabab sir jhuka rahe ho tum,
Kya tumhen mujhse kuch nadamat hai ?”
For no reason your head is being lowered. Have u got any reason to feel sorry to me? Words with deepest expressions come simple and natural to her.

“Who jo jism-o-jan men tha rabta, mujhe kya khabar tujhe kya pata,
Mere dil ko kaise mila sukun ? Meri jan kaise nikal gayee ?”

You can’t flower these verses without the command over the language and style.

“The link that existed between body and soul, neither you nor I am aware; How my heart attained its peace and how did my soul depart?”

It is a book which has its cover designed by world famous artist Sadiqain, preface by Dr. Mohd Ali Siddiqui, Vice Chancellor – BZ University, famous Urdu critique and renowned Urdu poet Munawwar Rana. The book is beautifully binded and spread over 432 pages. It is published by:

“Takhliqkar Publishers”
C / 5 – 54, J – Extension, Laxmi Nagar, Delhi – 110092 Price Rs 350 / -.
You can consult the author for your literary curiosity at the following land-line number: 26352873.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Feb
16
2013

“Moradabadi Darwazah” Tumhari Dastan tak bhee na hogi dastanon mein….

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Moradabadi Darwazah – It is an inadvertent monument of apathy, ignorance and indifference of our community.

Moradabadi Darwaza

Moradabadi Darwaza

Whenever I pass under the ramshackle arches, through the rabble of ‘Morabadi Darwazah’ I can’t help remember Allama Iqbal.

‘Kuch jo samjha mere shikwey ko to Rizwan samjha, mujhko jannat se nikala hua insaan samjah.’ Rizwan alone, my plaintive voice began to recognize. He knew for a human who has lost his paradise.

“Naaz hai taqat-e-guftar pe insano ko, baat karne ka saleeqah naheen insano ko.” That they are alone and blest with speech how proud these humans be, yet, ignorant, they lack the art to use it gracefully.

“Woh bhee din the ke yehi maya-e-ranai tha, Nazish-e-mousam-gul Lala-e-sahrai tha.” The tulips of wilds once reigned the queen of blossom time. In this once lay the quintessence of loveliness sublime.

“Kis qadar garan tumhen subah ke bedari hai, Hum se kab pyar tumhen neend tumhen pyari hai.” To pray to Me at the break of the day you now an ordeal deem, your morning slumber sweeter far-yet you would faithful seem.

“Jin ko aata naheen duniya men koi fun tum ho, Naheen jis qoum ko parvah-e-nasheman tum ho.” You love your home the least among the nations of the earth, you are the most incompetent in knowledge and in worth.

The following lines may not be pleasant to read and might fail to meet the merits of historian. However, these are like a clarion call for the progeny of Hazrat Syed Mohammed Meer Adl. I hope and pray that they would listen to me in the most positive spirits. Today when I go towards that side I just go to attend the wedding parties which are organized at the outskirts of the town at an ornate, magnificent sprawling banquet hall. I try to recall the bygone history the glittering past and present apathy that cries with the bellowing winds – it was once the Shah Rah of our azamat.

Half of the descendents of Meer Adl have migrated to Pakistan or other western countries. Still there is a huge population that claims its roots with Meer Adl. Their fathers and grand fathers made the conscious and wise decision to remain rooted and be a part of vibrant, secular and forward looking nation – INDIA. By the Grace of God, on either side of divide, they are a lot highly educated, sophisticated and well organized. Their prosperity makes it incumbent upon them to save their rich heritage. For a moment my heart sinks as I stop near the tablet that is fixed at the gate’s left pillar. It reads something as follows:

“Allah-o-Akabar. Der Ehd-e-Sultan Aleeshan Sahib Quran sani ShahabUddin Shah Jahan Padshah-e-Ghazi Khul Allah malaka Siyadat maab Meeran Abdul Majid ein Qilla bana namood.”

And the couplet which describes the rest of the details:

“Shood ein Qilla khor mee afza-ey, Khoob-o-mazboot-o-khas-o-mustehkam,
Khwastam saal eish az dabeer khurd, Guft bashumar Qilla-e-khuram.”
Ba ehtamam-e-bandaey Kamal Khan Khanzad Shahar-e-Ramazan-ul-mubarak 1052 memariyan Syed Abdul Majid.

It would be an insult to the erudition of denizens of the town if I have to tell, even after describing all details mentioned above, who built the Qill-e-alia. Suffice to say : Kamal Khan was the civil engineer. To wind up the story I must remind that a new market in the fort was added by Dewan Syed Mehmood Saheb who was the close descendent of Meer Adl. That market has survived the twists and turns of history and still remains as the thriving business space a throbbing commerce center. It is known as BARA BAZAR. It is also important to note that even in the difficult period of Shahan Shah Aourengzeb, and even after him, the descendents of Meer Adl occupied important positions at the royal courts.

Another gate of the fort CHANGA DARWAZA is lost for ever in new ugly haphazard concrete jungle and a motley crowd inhabits those places that were once the private payen baghs, bara dares, zanan kanas, adalats and khilwats of Sadat.

Today the tumble down ruins, the discreditable building, an eyesore for the passers-by ‘Moradabadi Darwazah’ is begging you, beseeching the progeny of Syed Mohammed Meer Adl, the descendents of Dewan Syed Mehmood in particular and Sadat-e-Uzzam in general to do something to salvage the remnants of forgotten grandeur. Bury your blotted egoes, sit down together, join heads, talk among yourselves, discuss with local and state authorities; go to INTACH and leave no stone unturned to save your glorious past.

Is anybody listening !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Feb
12
2013

Ek Lamha hamburger Khane Se Pahley !

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Read a poem sometime back – in praise of a horse.

The beauty of a horse
The thunder clap of hooves
The wind in their mane
The thrill of the flight
Another birth of a spring ride.

And now please read a pathetic story of horse’s plight and the perversity of human flight.
Horse drawn Victorias have almost disappeared from the streets of Mumbai. Now these novelties grace the wedding cavalcades. Nawabs and Maharajas have been transformed into politicians, industrialists or actors and their stables have been converted into five-Star Hotels. They are no longer interested in any breed, rich ancestry or pedigree of horses. Horses are now owned by armed forces or race courses. The horse-romance of Indians is left in history books: Chetak, Basfala or their ilks.

It is now another story in Europe. If you are not interested a horse ride near Champ Elysis, go for Horse Meat Hamburger. Courtesy – Irish Burger King franchise. There is no adulteration – 100 % pure horse meal. The only grievance you could air: It might be the poor cousin of the horse – the donkey’s meat that is garnished at your dining table. It does really matter if you have asked for Beef Burger. Both are non-veg! Yes, you are right. I’m talking about the recent horse meal scandal which is getting interesting, curious, murkier and weirder by the hour. How it had reached at your end if you were in Europe a day back?

It came from the abattoirs of Romania. As the Romanian government recently banned horse-drawn carts from the road, these hackneys went out of service. What to do with the redundant animals? Simple solution: Put them on the dining table!

Another million if not billion dollar question:
Why the slaughter houses agreed to substitute horse for beef?

Answer: India is no exception in curious businesses and Polish and Italian mafia gangs are running multi-million-pound scams can take lead from any smart resource. Substitution of horse meat for beef is not such a big deal. Veterinary doctors and other officers in the food chain are ready to help if someone is willing to pay the price. Intimidation are handy if the price-deal is not working. The authorities were managed by powerful mafia to certify ‘horse meat processed products’ as ‘beef’. From the abattoirs of Romania it went to a dealer in Cyprus, and from Cyprus to another dealer in Holland. Then it traveled to a meat plant in south of France. The French Meat Processor sold it to a French-owned factory in Luxumbourg which shaped it into the stuffing tikki of hamburger. These tikkis were sold to supermarkets in 16 countries. The story is as simple as this.

Have a nice ride!

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Feb
02
2013

He dwells not only in temples and mosques – Sarmad Shaheed

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On a dismal gloomy day of 1661 AD, in the Capital of Mughal Empire, Dilli (Delhi), history witnessed a macabre and ghostly dance of death. The town folk saw a naked, emaciated but content heretic being mercilessly dragged by the royal police towards the execution ground. There he was forced to sit in the posture of genuflection; his hands tied back crosswise to his feet; his head was lowered; and a shining sward fell upon his slender neck with all the brute force of executioner. Spurting blood all around his head flew in the air and then began the gruesome dance of death in its earnest. The headless body whirled violently and frantically in all gyrations. It refused to cool down. On looker were terrified at this ghastly TANDAV – a reminder of Natraj. Other than the minions of Aurangzeb there were many who were the followers and disciples of the prisoner. They cried, prayed and bowed to the ground to beseech the body to come to rest. History fails to record the time gap between beheading and cooling down. He was Sufi Sarmad Kashani, the naked, mystic poet and saint who commands the universal reverence and love even today.

Charges against him: Violation of Sahriah Law and public display of heresy. He had refused to don any cloak to cover his body and he, like his disciple Prince Dara Shikoh, the heir of Mughal Throne, refused to accept the concept of physical Meraj of Prophet (PBUH). They both believed that the Journey of the Prophet (PBUH) was a spiritual and not physical. However, these were the apparent reasons. Since time immemorial ‘political correctness’ has been the most desirable attribute to climb the greater heights. Historians of all ages have generally suppressed the fact to suit the rulers fancy. They were also conscious of their interests and prejudices. Exact causes of the execution of Sarmad were never known. The people believe that it was the vicinity of Sarmad with Dara Shikoh which finally landed him on the chopping board. Sarmad was the spiritual mentor of Dara and he had denounced Aurengzeb for the killing of Dara and other royals from the ramparts of Jama Masjid, Delhi.

In his narration ‘Stories of Sarmad’ famous chronicler Bilal Tanweer describes the last horrifying incidence of Saramd’s life before his execution in the following words:

“As  Aurengzeb’s procession was passing through the streets of Delhi, he saw Sarmad sitting on the roadside. The king ordered the march to halt and demanded the mystic to cover himself. The king looked at him with wrathful eyes and said,’If you think I need to cover my nudity so badly why don’t you cover me yourself?’ When the Emperor lifted the blanket on Sarmad’s side, the king saw the blooded heads of all the family members he had secretly murdered. Aurengzeb looked at Sarmad who said,’Now tell me what should I cover – your sins or my thighs?”

According to historians Sarmad was born to an Armenian Jewish merchant’s family of Iran. Having come to know about the enormous admiration of Fine Arts in India he decided to do business with Indians. He embarked upon a journey that changed the direction and destination of his life. He brought with him many valuable objects which could have fetched him rich returns. It wasn’t destined to be. He reached Thatta (presently in Pakistani Punjab) and forgot about his errand. Instead he fell in love of a local girl and in the aftermath lost every possession including the local girl. The impact of unrequited love persuaded him to give up his clothes for ever. He would walk the streets of Thatta in the dress of nature. However, even in this state of absolute renunciation Sarmad achieved the sublime heights of spiritualism. People took him in great reverence and the fame of his piety spread every corner of the globe. One boy Abhi Chand decided to become his disciple and this new relationship did something to soften the bruised contours of Sarmad’s persona. Scholars favored by the royal court of Aurangzeb and even now the professors of school of bigotry use this relationship to tarnish the impeccable image of Sarmad. They forget the platonic relationship of Mehmood Ghaznawi and his slave Ayaaz (eulogized by famous poet Iqbal – ‘Ek hi saf men khare ho gaye Mehmood-o-Ayaaz, na koi banda raha na koi banda nawaz’ and in much bolder statement by the same poet – ‘na woh Ghaznawi men tarap rahi na woh khum hai zulf-e-Ayaaz me’; they push under the carpet the relationship between Amir Khusro and his master Hazrat Nizam Uddin Awalia. The famous couplets of Amir Khusro – “Khusro Nizam ke bal bal jaihyoun…” Khusru died within few weeks after the death of his master and lies in eternal sleep only forty feet away from his master. The finest depiction of this relationship is made by Kabir Das – “Guru Govind douo khare, kake lagoon pai, Balihari Guru aapne Govind diyo batay.”

There is no relationship more enduring than between God and human being; there is no relationship more pious than between the son and mother; there is no relationship more sacred than between Teacher and Taught.

Aurengzeb has deputed Mulla Qawi, the Chief Justice to persecute Sarmad whose fate was known to everyone before the trial.

Moulana Abul Kalam Azad referred the Pro-Aurengzeb historian Sher Khan Lodhi who described Sarmad in his book “Miras-ul-Khyal” in the following words:” Sulatan Dara had an affinity to mad people so he became friend with Sarmad.”

Moulana Azad commented:” He (Lodhi) doesn’t know that there is set of scales in which this madness would outweigh all wisdom in the world. Dara was probably fed up with the pernicious wisdom of the likes of Aurengzeb that he preferred the company of Sarmad.” Sarmd suffered the same fate as Dara. Moulana adds – “Dara Shikoh had a unique mind and temperament and all should mourn the unfortunate day when his enemies triumphed.”

Today, there is large Neem tree opposite to the eastern gate of Delhi Jama Masjid which provides the peaceful abode for the holy saint who spoke the common language between all religions. In the cacophony of busy Delhi – 6 the moment you enter of the red-walled dargah you leave behind all your heavy burdens; you feel a complete peace of mind and in unison with God – no matter the faith you follow.

Sarmad had challenged the religious fanaticism in his life and defeated the bigotry in his death.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Jan
10
2013

Amroha and The Patriotic Uprising 1857

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It was a bolt from the blue. Order to use Enfield rifle with the greased Cartridge did hurt deeply the feelings of both Muslims and Hindu soldiers. They refused to fire the bullet. The spark of the unfired bullet caused an explosion that ballooned up in the form of Mutiny 1857. Invariably it failed to change the course of history but added a glorious chapter of sacrifice, valor and love for the motherland.

On the 11 th day of May 1857, sixteenth of Ramadan, rebel soldiers from Meerut landed in Delhi and were joined by Delhi regiments. Soon the walled city of Delhi was on fire. The jubilant deserters  were furiously looking for their white masters and putting them to sword. This evening Delhi was in control of Indians. True, there was loot and plunder all over the Moughal capital. By midnight a 21- gun salute from Royal Moughal Cannon announced the restoration of Moughal Empire. Bhahdur Shah Zafar was declared as the Commander-in Chief of Rebel forces. It was a new dream – a beginning of a new end.

The ripples of rebellion reached the shores of Amroha by 12 th May. There were three British officers posted in Moradabad region namely C.B. Saunders – the magistrate, J.J. Compbell – Joint magistrate and J Cracroft Wilson – the judge. Gursahay Jat was the Nazir in Collector’s office. Mr. Wilson was there in Amroha for 17 years. He was well posted in local affairs.

Please note that this scribe, by no means, is trying to produce a scholarly document that would satisfy the masters of historiography. This narration may or may not conform to the merits of experts. It is a simple narration as I read and heard in my journey to explore my roots. It is a short story of valiant attempts of ordinary Amrohvis who fought against the most powerful state  upon earth of their time.

The ancient Moughal capital was under intense turmoil now. News of rebellion at capital had warmed the blood of simple denizens of Amroha. On 17 th May 1857, the descendants of Dewan Syed Mehmood and Durwesh Ali Khan Saheb called a meeting of important dignitaries of the town inside the Dargah of Syed Sharfuddin Shah Wilayat. Public  gathered patiently outside the wall of dargah to learn the decision made by 30 city fathers. Majority of leaders wanted to stand up against the Raj and capture the reins of local administration. Some participants advised to use discretion, wait and watch. The decision to rebel against the usurpers was taken by majority vote and the meeting called off. On 19 th May mutineers broke the central jail of Moradabad and freed all the prisoners. Syed Gulzar Ali was the proud leader and commander of Amroha-Uprising. He arrived at Amroha with a group of freed prisoners. People gathered at short notice in the courtyard of Syed Ramzan Ali (Mohalla Katra) to chalk out the future strategy. Another meeting followed at the residence of another Ramazan – Sheikh Ramazan Ali (Moh Darbar Kalan). The clarion call was made there. The die was cast. Amroha was now a city of rebellion. Meer Madad Ali  and Shahmat Khan were Thanedar and  Jamadar of police department respectively at that time.

The appeal of Syed Gulzar Ali inspired thousands of young men and an ill equipped army of amateur soldiers attacked the police station and Tehsil of the town. Seventeen thousand rupees were confiscated from the government treasury. Thana and Tehsil were razed and put on fire. Many police officers were gunned down. Their graves are still lying undisturbed opposite the building of Old Thana near Mohalla Kali Pagri. Amroha was now in the hands of mutineers. The town munsif Saad Ullah Khan was rescued by Ali Muzaffar Khan who brought him home with his office.

This uprising is also the story of our weakness, disunity and conflicting motivations. It is also  the story of ordinary mortals caught in an extraordinary situation. It is story of human greed. It is a story of Jaichands and Meer Jafers.

On 25 th May 1857, Wilson arrived with a strong force that ruthlessly crushed the nascent revolt. The leaders of local revolution had to beat the retreat. They went underground.  The houses of Syed Gulzar Ali and other freedom fighters were razed to ground. The dream of freedom ended in smoke.

Government promoted Gursahay Jat as Chief Administrator and Amroha was given in care of a  Rampur Royal Nawab Abdul Ali Khan to soften the bruised contours of proud Amrohvis. Gursahay was rewarded a big Jageer (11 villages) by British masters. He was given the title Raja and there after referred officially as Raja Gursahay.

What followed later was a bloody, vicious and awful suppression. Heaps of dead bodies scattered around the police stations and streets. Homes were broken down and sacked. The ordinary town folk were falling victims of British ire. It took another 90 tediously long years to write the new chapter.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Dec
22
2012

The Bridge Over the River Sot

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Once upon a time, many years ago, in fact around fifty years ago, Amroha was a beautiful town of  mango and guava orchards, lush green fields, holy dargahs, ancient temples, caravan sarias, takias, khanqahs, wonderful lakes and enchanting pools. People used to enjoy their morning and evening walks at Lipton Road known as Thandi Sarak (Winter Street). The life was simple – no big frills attached. You would see a lot of  amateur fishermen sitting patiently by the lake side with their fishing rods dangled in silent water, waiting for the catch. Now, all those pastimes are gone forever. As the generations pass their stories and memoirs can no longer be heard. Only a few stories of human interest, bits of wisdom, family histories and humorous happenings are left for future generations to enjoy. However, two lines are common in all of them: Amroha is situated at the banks of River Sot. Amroha is located near the River Sot. Unfortunately that river does no longer exist. There is no water; the river bed is a parched dry land. There stands a lonely bridge that reminds a gruesome old story.
Hundred years  back a train fell into the river as the bridge caved in. All the travelers were killed.

Several images conjure up when someone asks you to remember the childhood. Every one of us has too many wonderful stories and memoirs to narrate if someone touches the emotional cord. According to individual psychology people don’t recall the events that happened to them correctly but they recall them in a way that best describes their subconscious state of mind. As a child we wanted to grow up but now we realize that broken toys and lost pencils were much better than broken heart and lost friends.

This one is a blast from past.

I can still vividly recollect the distant sound of train gracefully passing over the solitary bridge of River Sot in the dark nights. The trundling sound was gentle and often furious. I would get up in my bed and ask my father, “Why the whistle of the engine is so strident? Why the train makes so much sound when it passes over the bridge?” My father was a systematic man who would never get irritated with my most idiotic questions. He would promise me to give the answer in the morning and instruct me to sleep.”

“The train moves against the wind. First, it’s the wind that generates the sound. Second, the sound is due to stress which is created between the wheels of train and iron track. Third, the vibrations of the compartments also create noise. The combined effect is that intensity increases aided with the water below the bridge. Vibrations are absorbed by the earth when the train moves on track on the land. I don’t have to explain the noise of the whistle.” Since my childhood the technical explanation often helped me in winning appreciation of my peers and the admiration of elders – a reason to remember my father in difficult times.

Drina River, Serbia

Drina River in Serbia.

Tower Bridge spans over River Thames in London. It is the only bridge in the world which could be raised from its middle section to permit the large vehicles to pass through it. There is another bridge which always brings back the memories of distant past – “The Bridge On the River Drina.” It was built  by Mehmed Pasa Sokolovic. Construction of this bridge began in 1566 A.D. and it took five years to finish it. It connected Sarajevo pashaluk (the territory of present day Bosnia and Herzegovina) to rest of the Turkish Empire. He was a Serbian child and was taken away from his mother as a part of levy by the Turkish rulers. His mother followed him wailing until they reached the river where they parted and the boy boarded the ferry. This boy, in the years that  followed, showed extraordinary talents. In due course of time he became the Grand Muslim Vazir. He assumed the name – Mohammed Pasha Sokolovik. Yet, his childhood memories had always haunted him and he ordered to build a bridge at the specific spot where he was snatched away from his mother.

Sot River has no such rich past to boast. The bridge over the River Sot was built by Britishers.

Come Shab-e-barat and groups of believers would walk down the river front, early in the morning, to plop into the water an AREEZA from the bridge – a kind of written supplication to Living Imam. There would be lots of fireworks by the river side and prizes were often awarded for the best firework. All is gone now into folk- lore. Now, no one visits Sot for spiritual reasons. The story of ‘tragedy- of-Sot’ had been kept alive by stray Dastango – the traditional itinerant story tellers.

Long before the advent of theaters and films, the minstrels used to practice this medieval art of story- telling. They would engage the public at street corners with stories of adventures, romances, tragedies, djins, fairies and prophesies. A baton in the right hand and a wrist full of iron bangles was the instrument to provide the background music. “Dastan Ameer Hamza” was one the favorite topic.

The narration of the tragedy of River Sot was so impinged upon my memory screen that I have carried it all thorough my life. According to Dastango, the river looked best at dawn. It was the time the train met its preordained  fate. Sit down under the bridge even today and you couldl hear the cries of unfortunate travelers. Listen to the faint whistle of train and you won’t miss the last shriek of Hameeda – the unfortunate groom who had rebelled against society to marry a craft- man who was lower in ranks. The first time she was going her Susral. The couple had put on their wedding dress. As the train slipped down every traveler including the newly wedded couple  disappeared into ocean and with them died the dreams and ambitions of that great caravan.

The story had some unbelievable segments but it was always listened in pin drop silence with awe and agony. Absolute concentration was the name of the game.

I can recollect just one couplet of dastango:

“Sot naddi pa mehshar bapa ho gya,
Bhai se bhai juda ho gya.”

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Dec
19
2012

Delhi – The Unsafe Capital

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Few stray thoughts, some point of views…and a slice of realism.

Meer Taqi Meer has said:

“Kya bood-o-bash pucho ho poorab ke sakinon,

hum ko haqeer janke huns huns pukar ke.

Dehli jo ek shaher tha alam men intakhab,

hum rahene wale hain usee ujre dayar ke.”

It is a dismal evening. As I’m writing this article thousands of demonstrators are clogging around the India Gate to express their anger, frustration and despair. A 23 – year old college girl was raped yesterday in a moving bus by six men. They savagely beat her and her companion with iron rods as the bus passed through several police check points on its excursion trip around the city. At the moment the victim is lying in critical condition in the hospital with fatal injuries. She is battling for life.

A lot of crocodile tears are shed by politicians of different hues and they have already made their feelings known in louder tones. The cameos of sympathy will be there on exhibition for some more time and then we will go for next headlines. Sonia Gandhiji visited the victim and wrote a letter to Chief Minister Mrs. Sheila Dikshit. It says: “It is a matter of shame that these incidents recur with painful regularity and that our daughters, sisters and mothers are unsafe in our capital city.”

I feel that this horrific incident should become a turning point in country’s history and  a clear message should go to authorities that society would no longer tolerate their sloth and inaction. They must answer as to why the bus remained unnoticed on the streets of Delhi for so long? Why the authorities have failed, time and again, to give protection to the ordinary citizen?

However, blaming authorities would not suffice. We  as members of civilized society  must do introspection – are we fulfilling our responsibilities as we ought to do? For about one hour two  human beings, you and me, were lying naked, shivering and bleeding, seething in pain at the road side while both male and female members of civilized society passed by  indifferently, didn’t help…. even failed to throw a sheet of cloth upon them. WE collectively failed. Shame on us! Today we have no right to make the photo-tamsha  protest for what has happened.  The rapists were not human beings, not animals but beasts – the worst and cursed creation upon earth. No amount of punishment would heal the wounds. The society of animals would have done better than us in such a situation.

Sometimes back a website ‘Good Men Project’ put up a post by writer Alyssa Royce titled ‘Nice Guys Commit Rape Too.’ The editor of website published the first hand account of an admitted rapist who really enjoyed the life of a reprobate. The project classified rapes as Date Rapes, Acquaintance Rapes and Predators Rape. The first two rapes were defined as situations where the perpetrators knew the victims and often ran in the same social circles. Rape was incidental. The criminals defend their acts in courts and society as sort of mistakes and blunders by a nice guy who was in a wrong place at a wrong time. They try to gloss over their pitfalls and often society believes in them.

In the Indian context, it could be argued that we are trying to imitate and emulate the western culture without proper safeguards against the flip side of that society. It took them centuries to empower women.  The fair sex there possesses the necessary attributes to face the challenges of the developing scenarios. In India, we are still fighting the old ethos, prejudices and traditions. For our male society the company of women is desirable as long as the name and prestige of family is not at stake. Women are also ambitious and they are in a rush to bridge the gaps of ages. Today, we are slowly but surely turning into a promiscuous society. Our women enjoy more freedom than ever before. They are free to pursue their intellectual and instinctual ambitions as it helps them to share the new-found prosperity and liberties with their families. Men folk look the other way as they also want peace of mind and a fat purse. Some compromises are acceptable as long as their standard of life gets a pep and pop. But there is a dark side of the story also. You can’t have your cake and eat it also. To achieve their goals our Women folk have to go out and face the predators who are ready at large to pounce upon them. These predators come in different garbs, hues and from different segments of society. Some of them are very powerful, tactful, talented intellectuals, experts and some are desperate destitute. Some of them also carry few grudges against society that make them psychos.

We appreciate that Women are equal partners of our new society. They often tower over man in mental and material achievements. Let the men-folk realize that marriage, motherhood and rearing kids are desirable virtues and milestones even today but they are just OPTIONS for womanbeing in contemporary India. This may or may not be the flip side in every situation.

The society had never reacted the way it should have when the innocent females were raped in Gujarat and elsewhere. Video films were made and circulated. Today  we are glorifying the very individuals who failed to protect those innocents in those horrific situations. We remained heartless, unmerciful, unrepentant and apathetic in the least. The politicians connived with the criminals. In the present day India any criminal who can win an election is nominated by any political party and we condone meekly to their choices.  We get what we deserve; we reap what we sow. Our own deeds are coming home to roost.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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Dec
17
2012

Modi’s Victory – A Pyrrhic Scenario

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Narendra Modi

Narendra Modi

A few stray thoughts, some point of views………and a pessimistic observation.

The victory of Modi is a  foregone conclusion. The issue of debate is only the margin of victory, its implications for the nation in general and Gujarat in particular. I present here the future in simple terms without loading my arguments with statistical data.

 

A possible scenario:

If Modi wins big the Muslim minority in Gujarat (save the already rich trading Muslim communities which are exceptions) would be further pushed into oblivion. It would find life difficult and often miserable for itself. Helplessness and frustration would force it to resign to fate. Time to time Modi would throw some odds and bits before them for RSS propaganda and public consumption. But, from now onwards, they have to struggle much harder for their survival. In past Congress has done nothing for Indian Muslims  except lip service. A fleeting remark about their pathetic plight in P.M. Manmohan Singh’s address was all that it could do for them. Congress failed to take up a principled stand in Gujarat. This party wants people like Modi to remain vibrant. It makes easier for Congress to project itself as the protector of minorities. Ironically, Congress would remain a mute spectator while  RSS would force apartheid in the states where it rules. Indian National Congress has destroyed our economy, our language, our culture and our identity. New circumstances  would put the minorities between the devil and deep sea. The Urdu poet has said:

“Na tarapne ki ijazat hai na faryad ki hai,
ghut ke mar jayen yeh marzi mere sayyad ki hai.”

December 20 is also going to change the internal equations of BJP and the Saffron House for ever. A big electoral victory would catapult Modi into the central stage of Bharat. Modi would become the supreme leader. BJP and its leaders would be compelled to act as subservient to Modi’s dictates. The present cadre of leadership would have no control over the developing situations.

Undoubtedly, his towering personality has made him the pivot of every activity in Gujarat. He is able to attract the powerful rich investors, considerable middle class, media and film stars to bolster his aspirations and establish him as an undisputed leader. He is unstoppable. Consequently, RSS would no longer be in the driving seat. He would play politics on his own terms which is something unusual and contrary to RSS history and discipline. His march towards Delhi would begin on Dec 20, 2012.

Now, here is the rest of the story.

Mulayam, Mamta and Maya would find it difficult to opt for Modi as they also need the Muslim votes for their survival. With Modi at the helm of affairs, BJP would find it difficult to forge new alliances.

With the departure of Mr. Yedurappa from Karnataka BJP, Saffron Brigade has lost a powerful leader who had opened accounts of BJP in South India. Karnataka is about to slip from its stronghold. The results of Hills  do not augur well for BJP.  Defeat in Hills is almost certain as its victory in Gujarat. Mr. Gadkari, the present president of BJP has effectively become a liability for the party. The longer he sits at the top the more BJP is going to lose face.

The convincing victory of Modi would leave BJP with  no choice but to present him as the BJP’s Prime Ministrial  candidate. And lo ! here comes the Guardian’s knot. Nitish Kumar will never accept Modi. He finds himself a suitable candidate for the prime minister chair. Mr. Nitish is obviously more acceptable to  coalition partners even now. Mulayam, Mamta and Maya would find it difficult to opt for Modi as they also need the Muslim votes for their survival. With Modi at the helm of affairs, BJP would find it difficult to forge new alliances. The cultivation of new relationships would be an uphill task as the choice is limited. The time is running out.

Ultimately, the victory of Narendra Modi in Gujarat would be a Waterloo for BJP ambitions in Delhi.

Naim Naqvi

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

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