I don’t want to write from New York, London or Delhi: Tabish Khair

Author and poet Tabish Khair left India at the age of 24. Born and educated in Gaya and today an associate professor at the University of Aarhus, Denmark, Khair rejects labels like ‘diasporic’ and ‘multicultural’. However, a keen awareness of his displaced identity is evident in his latest works, the novel The Thing About Thugs and his collection of poems, Man Of Glass.

In the latter, he takes the works of three writers from different eras — Sanskrit dramatist Kalidas, Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib and Danish writer HC Anderson — and makes them his own, in content and form. On a recent visit to Mumbai, Khair spoke to DNA about his literary preoccupations, his identity as a writer, and his relationship with the languages he grew up with.

How did you conceive of The Thing About Thugs? 
I had grown tired of the recent multicultural novel based in contemporary London. They make a claim of knowing the native, a claim I can’t accept. I had also done some reading about the thugees and felt that the British narrative on them was just one side of the story. There were lots of other stories that hadn’t been told. And I had a similar feeling about Victorian London. So the two combined to create this novel. Also, in some way, London of that time reminded me of the situation in India today in terms of the difference of wealth.

Full interview here DNA

The story thus far...

Seasoned author Joginder Paul shares the crests and troughs of Urdu in Delhi, the city of immigrants

It is difficult not to like Joginder Paul, the silver-haired 85-year-old author, much hailed and translated. Measured words, generous smiles, one moment he comes across as a family patriarch on a relaxed late summer afternoon: a cotton kurta on his body, a cigarette placed between his fingers and a mop of hair that constantly demands attention. Next moment he is a scholar whose every sentence comes cloaked with words of wisdom. Sitting in his unpretentious study in South Delhi, Paul has a black-and-white painting of Ghalib on his right, and Saadat Hasan Manto peers from a calendar just behind him even as Krishna keeps a silent watch. There is Kabir too, another painting reminding us of the varied hues of the gentleman's tastes. This Sunday, he heads to Aurangabad, where 500 of his admirers and former students (Paul was college principal for over a decade there) gather to felicitate him on Gratitude Day.

Predictably enough he is on the ball from the first sentence. “I am a Punjabi who speaks Punjabi at home. I read and taught English in college for a living, and write in Urdu.” Paul, clearly, has the talent for making anomalies sound not just normal but also desirable. Pratibha India has just reproduced a story he wrote in the 1970s, but Paul is in no mood to wallow in nostalgia. “Nostalgia is natural at my age, but I don't bank upon the past. Nostalgia makes you feel old. Courage to play the fool makes me feel young.”

Full report here Hindu

In Ghalib's skin

Charan Das Sidhu sweeps away the chaff to reach to the soul of Mirza Ghalib in his play “Ghalib-e-Azam.”

“In recent years, we have seen several plays and a few serials on Mirza Ghalib. They have caricaturised a great poet by focusing on his relationship with courtesans and their coquetry, Ghalib's drinking and gambling habits interspersed with his popular ghazals. I was pained to see them and decided to project the real personality of the great poet in the context of his troubled personal life and the history and culture of his times. For five years, I studied works by Indian as well as foreign scholars on Ghalib and finally completed the project,” says Charan Das Sindhu, author of 36 plays. “Ghalib-e-Azam,” his latest offering, was premiered at Shri Ram Centre recently under the direction of Ravi Taneja, his son-in-law.

Creative vision
Endowed with a unique creative vision, he writes in Punjabi, Urdu and Hindi with equal felicity. His Ghalib is a great poet and a great man who suffered one heartbreak after another and was betrayed by his close relatives. “The death of one child is too much of a shock that breaks one's heart. Ghalib lost seven children when they were in their infancy but he endured all this displaying great fortitude, sharing these deeply tragic moments with his dear wife Umaro Jaan,” says the playwright. “To add to his woes, he had to look after his mentally ill brother — who is said to have been killed by a British soldier during the 1857 revolt.”

Full report here Hindu

Rhyme, with reason

Emerging forums for poetry have helped revive interest in verse

Ghalib would certainly approve. His Dilliwallahs may have forgotten him, but poetry manages to survive in his city. And poets are struggling with the same issues as Ghalib—with publishing, not drink. Though technology has come to their aid, they find it hard to sell. Even published poets such as Priya Sarukkai Chabria, Suresh Kohli and Tanya Mendonsa often go unrecognised.

However, forums have sprung up across cities in India, online and real, to promote the cause of poetry. Delhi Poetree is one such group dedicated to the revival of verse.

Far from Ghalib’s grave in Nizamuddin, amateur poets of the group hold their own version of the mushaira in a small room at Khan Market with the smell of coffee and cinnamon hanging in the air.

Delhi Poetree, founded by Amit Dahiyabadshah, aims to take verse out of stuffy academic institutions into the mainstream and hopes to bring back the romance of poetry. “We want poetry to be part of everyday life,’’ says Dahiyabadshah. “There is a crying need for people to destress and feel good about themselves. Our poetry aims to do that.”

Full report here Week

Zia Mohyeddin and Amitabh Bachchan in Bombay

Last month, we had the opportunity to listen to Zia Mohyeddin. He had been invited here as part of the Aman ki Asha programme that Jang and the Times of India have organised. It's an excellent initiative because in the absence of trade, and given that we can hardly agree on anything else, culture is the one thing we can share comfortably.

A few years ago I had read about Mohyeddin's famous annual recitations in Pakistan. A friend from Lahore then sent three compact discs of his performances recorded at what I think were functions of Pakistani-Americans. The recordings included an irreverent one about different Pakistani communities and their cultural traits. There was one funny story about Chinioti traders. There was also a smoothly delivered dialogue in English between man and God about the nature of woman. I had read about Mohyeddin's readings of Ghalib's letters, but those were not included in the recordings.

These were the sort of things I had wanted to listen to from Mohyeddin. I read that Mohyeddin had revived the more traditional style of reciting Urdu poetry. This had been eclipsed 50 years ago by the hammy style of Z A Bokhari, brother of humorist Patras. I looked forward to understanding what that meant.

Full report here The News