ABUL KALAM AZAD - A MAN DEFEATED BY PARTITION

Some people attains greater significance in spite of time trying to bury them in the remnants of history. At times complexity of the current problems drives us back to those visionaries, whose warnings once we ignored and visions we defeated. The spreading epidemic of fundamentalism and intolerance takes us to the footsteps of such a person who devoted his life fighting it with all his might in the Indian subcontinent - Abul Kalam Azad, independent India's first education minister and a champion of syncretism.

Nothing has cost our mother land greater than the Hindu - Muslim discord. Cunning minds within and without aggravated and exploited it for their selfish mileages and still continues to. Minds that cared for humanity warned and tried their level best to teach the masses about the hollowness of intolerance. Azad's concept of 'Wahdat -e- Din' or 'the Unity of Religions' was a step in the direction.

As per the concept every religion has two aspects - deen and shariah. Deen refers to the totality of the metaphysical doctrines which constitutes the core of a religion where as shariah comprises of the rituals and practices, which are culture specific. Azad maintains that deen, which is the essence, is same for all religions (like belief in god, good and evil, mercy to all etc). What differs is the shariah which varies not only with religion but also within religion with region and age.

Azad's call was essentially to focus on those fundamental factors (deen) which unites every being of all religions and to be tolerant with regard to the marginal factors (shariah). Such a call for harmonious coexistence was very significant then as colonial India was frequently rocked by communal violences.

Decades have passed, intolerance still exists. The uncertainities of modernisation are giving births to newer varieties and shades of fundamentalism. Somehow often we forget that what binds us together and fall prey to what divides us.

mashoodkk

AN ATTEMPTED TRANSLATION OF 'MAMPAZHAM' - A POEM THAT LEFT KERALA IN TEARS

The translation attempted here is not word by word.......emphasis has been to capture the essence and transfer the feeling.......the intrinsic difficulty imposed by Vailoppilli's poetic brilliance combined with the poesy of Malayalam , along with translator's ineptness might have resulted in a drastic fall in beauty.......

Apologies to those who could read the original work......Only excuse are those who never did experience those magical words, which touched and moved every single heart, young and old alike and still continues to......



As the maiden fruit plucked itself from the tender twig
Warm droplets sprung from the gloomy red eyes
of the lonely mother

Four months ago, when that tree in the yard flowered
for the first time
The little kid plucked it in innocence and ran into mother's lap

The expected hug didn't warm the tender heart
Instead sharpness of words wiped of his delight

"One who should wait and pick up the fruit when it falls
If is nipping it in the bud, should get good whips" scolded the mother

The flower like face grew pale and drooped
In a whimper, like a soliloquy, the soft voice whispered
"I will not pick up those fruits"

From the mind that could hardly speak
Came those words like a prophecy
Yes...soon did his playground change
From the dusty earth to lofty heavens

As the first fruit plucked itself from the tender twig
Warm droplets sprung from the gloomy red eyes
of the lonely mother

In the midst of the hue and cry of the kids from
the neighboring yard
She walked unto that fruit lying unwanted in the dust

Burying it at the feet of her parted soul
Her sobbing heart requested
"Even when you went away annoyed, slowly with a mischief
Ain't you used to come back hiding, after a while
One last time more my beloved.....come...
To take this from your mother's hands......"

In the gentle breeze that ensued
The maternal heart felt his featherly touch.

mashoodkk

WHAT IS IN THE WASTE BASKET MATTERS !

I learned it recently through observation. Particularly the subject was a friend of mine who lives next door to me. I cannot get out of my building without passing through his front door. That narrow corridor with waste baskets in a typical array, in front of each door on both sides, was common to most of the educational institutes I have been. One day I suddenly recalled a fragment of a statement made by some visitor to my school when I was in eleven or twelve - 'teaching in every breath'. I was surprised by the fact that it was a waste basket which triggered this recall. The chain of thoughts kept on developing. From the waste basket I started drawing inferences about the person. Slowly I realized that waste baskets tells a lot.......especially what is being thrown away, about the character of the person. Now whenever I am to throw something away, the schizophrenic coward within me gets scared and insecure. The dilemma of 'whether to throw it away or not' thusly got another dimension. As a child it was the fear of divine curse, in the teens some sort of pseudo societal concern while in the youth a sense of insecurity about perceived threats of scarcity and poverty. It took some time to realize that all these are not distinct but different manifestation of what we call 'fear'. The same fear which cripples the life of millions, which makes people opt for professions they don't like, marry people they don't really love and so on. In short what is in the waste basket matters a lot.

mashoodkk

TALL MAN AND THE GOD - STORY OF A CHILDHOOD ILLUSION

There was a tall man who used to walk through the road in front of my house every evening, close to twilight. In the yellow, diminishing light he looked very strange to me. Looking back, probably he was going to have his share of daily toddy after the long days work....... I am not sure. It can also be that he was going to fetch things from the grocery shop to feed his family,........... I don't know. He had curly hairs, oiled and well combed and his legs and hands were long and masculine. He never used to look at me but walked briskly over the untarred road in a silent and determined gait. Somehow he aroused a strangely mixed feelings of reverence, aversion and fear in me.

As the sun goes off my mother would start shouting repeatedly at me to take bath, have the evening snacks and sit for the daily studies. Before I start with my school books, under the insistence of my parents, I had to go go through the madrassa teachings. As a kid aged around 7, I hardly understood anything of it. My aunt who lived with us would explain to me with lively imageries about god, judgment day, angels, prophet etc. Mostly it was like watching a movie with alternating scenes of terror, order, mercy and care. Her understanding was of course very limited as she never bothered much about contemplating over the fineries. I was always curious to know more and at times she would invent her own stories to silence my pestering.

Whatever it be, the result was that it took me another ten years to realize that prophet Muhammed was a human being ! Till then for me prophets were a set of another fairy creature like angels. And that old man appeared often in my dreams as god ! I don't know where he is now. Even then I didn't knew his name or whereabouts. But I still can recall his face and gait clearly. For how can one forget one's first god....:)

mashoodkk