Dar-us-Siraj

It was an irony of fate that Khadeeja Phuphi had to migrate to Pakistan after Independence, as her only son decided to migrate. We were told that she was very unhappy in Pakistan and passed away after only a few years of a miserable life there.

Besides being exposed to political activities just prior to Independence, I was also exposed to the literary movement in support of the freedom movement. The Progressive Writer’s Association comprised well-known poets and writers like Sajjad Zaheer, Ali Sardar Jaffery, Krishan Chander, my uncle Majaz, and many others. I was, however, too young to be allowed to interact with them. The Association brought out a journal, Naya Adab. Majaz Chacha was on its editorial board and copies of Naya Adab used to be sent to Dar-us-Siraj. I would be glued to them and enjoyed reading the articles and poems printed in them. I was only 10 or 11 years old at that time and there was a lot which I did not understand like the meanings of words and even ideas, but I would still read and then ask my aunts to explain. The politically and educationally rich atmosphere at Dar-us-Siraj attracted me so much that soon after coming back from school, I would go there. My mother used to get angry with me as instead of staying at home and helping her with the household chores, I would run away to Dar-us-Siraj. Since I was the youngest in Dar-us-Siraj and very curious to learn, my uncles and aunts would take a great deal of interest in me and encourage my curiosity. My parents though always felt that I was aspiring too high. They also feared that I might not accept their choice of spouse and bring disgrace to the family like my aunt Wakeelan. However, it was decided that I would be allowed to study up to high school which was regarded as a decent level of education for a girl. With good looks and a high school degree, a decent educated young man could be found for me. My aunts, Safia and Hameeda, were however, able to convince my father that I should be allowed to continue my education.

We had no electricity at home in those days, which was not uncommon, and I used to study under a kerosene lamp. So, my aunt Hameeda would invite me and even give me her room to study in at night under the electric light as they had an electricity connection. I owe a great deal to my two aunts for my intellectual growth. During the long summer holidays, I would move to Dar-us-Siraj. Aunt Safia, who would come home to Lucknow from Aligarh during the summer holidays, would tutor me in English and Aunt Hameeda would tutor me in mathematics. I was given English lessons in the morning after breakfast and mathematics lessons in the afternoon after the midday siesta. I loved doing Maths and could not sleep during the siesta, waiting for everyone to get up so I could get on with my lessons. On one such day, I could not wait any longer and decided to play a prank. I advanced all the clocks and watches and woke up everybody. They were surprised that they had overslept and were still sleepy. They also noticed that the sun was still very high but I assured them that it was half-past four, the usual time to be up and have sherbet. In summer, instead of tea, we had cold drinks. I even had the audacity to tell them to check the time. Sure enough, every watch indicated the same time. So everyone got up and the servant too was scolded for sleeping late and ordered to serve the drinks, while I got ready for my Maths lesson. Just then my aunt noticed a stool near the mantelpiece in the drawing room and wondered what it was doing there. My cousin, Abbu bhai, remembered that he had seen me climbing on it and doing something on the mantelpiece. I was, in fact, advancing the hands on the clock since I was too short to reach it. Thus, my mischief was discovered and I was given a good scolding.

Zarina Bhatty recalls the course of the unconventional life she chose in From Purdah to Piccadilly

The result of extra coaching by my aunts was that I passed high school examination with flying colors. I secured first division with distinction in three subjects. The marking system in those days was very different. 60pc meant first division and 70pc was regarded as so high that a distinction was awarded. I am amazed how these days 98 percent and 99pc marks are given even in social sciences.

My aspirations rose and I quietly applied to the IT College for admission in Intermediate. IT College was situated at the same walking distance from my home as was the Karamat Husain Muslim Girls College. It was regarded as the best women’s college in Asia in those days and students came to study not only from all over India but also from neighboring countries like Afghanistan and Nepal. But IT College did not have high walls like the Karamat Husain College and the girls there did not observe purdah. So, my father did not find it suitable for girls from “respectable” families like ours. Although my aunt Hameeda had earlier studied there, she used to go in burka which I refused to wear. Besides, my parents feared that if I went to IT College and interacted with girls who did not observe purdah and was taught by Christian teachers, I might become more “modern.” So finally, to my utter disappointment, I was sent back to the Karamat Husain College for Intermediate.

Independence Day

I consider myself fortunate to have been old enough to understand the significance of political freedom and to participate in the rejoicings on August 15, 1947, the day of India’s independence. Sweets were distributed in schools and tricolor flags were hoisted all over the city. Lucknow was abuzz with patriotic songs, including “Vande Mataram,” without any negative feelings from Muslims toward the song, though much is made about it by fundamentalist Muslims these days. The entire city was lit up and we all went out to see the lights, except aapa who was pregnant. But alas, the rejoicings were short-lived. The very next day, we were summoned back from school earlier than usual because the news of communal riots in Punjab and its spread into Western UP had filtered into Lucknow. However, we were lucky as riots did not occur in Lucknow. The ages-old Hindu-Muslim unity and mutual trust sustained the peace in the city.

Impact of Partition on Rudauli’s Muslims

Rudauli’s gentry was very secular and most zamindars and talukdars had opposed the Partition. My father too was against it, as was my maternal granduncle, Latif Nana, who was actively involved in the freedom movement. Those secular Muslims who called themselves “Nationalist Muslims” found no contradiction in being Muslims and Indians. But as the news of the massacre and brutal atrocities spread, joy was turned into gloom and a deep sense of insecurity gripped the Muslims who had decided to stay behind in India, the country of their birth. As a result of these brutal killings, even die-hard nationalist Muslims started having fears about their safety and planned to migrate to Pakistan. It was a time of much political uncertainty for Indian Muslims who suddenly felt that their loyalty was being suspected despite their full participation in India’s freedom movement. Our expectations of a free and secular, prosperous India, were busted like a balloon. Our relatives and Muslim friends started leaving for Karachi or Dhaka. Every day, we would hear that some uncle or cousin of ours had left, leaving behind old parents and women to be invited later to Pakistan, once they secured jobs there. Muslim youth felt insecure in India, fearing discrimination in jobs and began seeing Pakistan as a “land of opportunity.” But soon after arriving there, they realised that it was not so. They were not welcomed and even faced hostilities from Punjabis and Sindhis who viewed them as “outsiders.” These immigrant Muslims had become a minority in their country of origin; now they were muhajhirs in their country of adoption. Religion — the basis for truncating India — did not play an integrating force in Pakistan as was expected; language and culture proved much stronger binding forces than religion.

Older persons left India with heavy hearts under the pressure of their children. Many missed the Indian varieties of paan and found the mispronunciation of Urdu words by Punjabis and Sindhis jarring to their ears. The UP gentry found the loud, exuberant Punjabi culture “vulgar” compared to the sophistication and subtleties of the Oudh culture. In the second round of migration, after hearing of the plight of their relatives who had migrated earlier, many Indian Muslims decided to stay in India, fearing they would be cultural misfits in Pakistan. It was not easy for Muslims who were born and brought up in undivided India to change their loyalty overnight and forget the symbols of their pride such as, Muslim architecture, the Taj Mahal, the Qutub Minar, the Red Fort, and all the shrines of their revered saints. They missed the mushaira sessions and the classical music of Ustad Allauddin Khan, Pandit Ravi Shankar, and Vilayat Khan, among many other renowned musicians in India. They missed the typical North Indian Mughlai cuisine like the nihari of Jama Masjid in Delhi, seekh kebabs from Tunda of Lucknow, the Hyderabadi biryani and so on. They missed revering the graves of their ancestors and the hundreds of years’ old havelis depicting the Muslim presence in India. They also missed the wide varieties of mangoes like the Langda of Banaras, Dussehri and Samar Bahisht of Lucknow, and the Safaida of Malihabad.

The above excerpt is taken from the chapter ‘Exposure to the Freedom Movement’

Excerpted with permission from
From Purdah to PiccadillyBy Zarina Bhatty
Sage Publications India
ISBN 978-9351508243
196pp.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 19th, 2016