"One Of These Days" by Gabriel García Márquez/Urdu Translation

 

"One Of These Days" by Gabriel García Márquez

Halqa Arbab-e-Zauq NY had a session on Marquez last weekend. I attemtped to translate one of his short stories in Urdu.

It is the story of a dentist, who loves what he does, is apparently not that busy but would rather not attend to the Mayor. Internal conflict between the healer and the rebel is cleverly portrayed.
His signature mark is attention to details and inner feelings.

English translation can be viewed at:
http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/ootdays.html

 

ایسا ہی ایک دن

سوموار کی صبح گرم اور خشک تھی - آؤریلیو ایسکووار ماہر دنداں بلا ڈگری صبح سویرے اٹھنے والا شخص تھا اور چھ بجے مطب پہنچ چکا تھا - اس نے چند مصنوئی داںت جو ابھی تک پلستر کے سانچے میں آویزاں تھے شیشے کے کیس سے نکالے اور مشت بھرے اوزار میز پرلمبائی کی نسبت ایسے سجاۓ کے جیسے نمائش لگی ہو - اس نے بغیر کالر کے ایک لکیر دار کرتا پہنا ہوا تھا جو طلائی بٹنوں سےگلے تک بند تھا - اس کی پتلون سسپنڈرز کی بدولت صحیح مقام پہ معلق تھی - اس کا بدن دبلا اور تنا ہوا تھا اور اس کے دیکھنے کا انداز ماحول سے مطاقبت نہ رکھتا تھا جیسے کے ایک بہرہ دیکھ رہا ہو -

میز پہ سامان آراستہ کرنے کے بعد اس نے اپنی کام کرنے والی کرسی کی طرف ڈرل کھینچی اور مصنوئی دانتوں کو چمکانے کے لیے بیٹھ گیا -ایسا لگتا تھا کہ وہ سوچنے کی ضرورت سے بےنیاز ہو کر کام کر رہا تھا مگر وہ باقاعدگی سے لگا رہا اور اکثر دفعہ ضرورت کے بغیر ڈرل کو پاؤں سے پمپ کرتا رہا -

آٹھ بجے کے بعد وہ کچھ دیر کے لیے آسمان کو دیکھنے کے لیےکھڑکی کے پاس رکا - پڑوس کی چھت کی پر دو اداس گدھ سستا رہے تھے - وہ اس خیال سے واپس کام پر لگ گیا کہ دوپہر تک بارش پھر لگ جاۓ گی - اس کے گیارہ سالہ بیٹے کی چیرتی آواز نے اس کا دھیان منتشر کر دیا -

'پاپا'

'کیا؟'

'میئر پوچھ رہا ہے کہ آپ اس کا دانت نکال دو گے ؟'

'اسے کہہ دو کہ میں یہاں نہیں ہوں '-

وہ سونے کا دانت چمکا رہا تھا - اس نے اسے بازو کی حد تک اٹھایا اور آنکھیں نیم وا کر کہ اس کا معائینہ کرنے لگا -اس کا بیٹا برابر کی انتظارگاہ سے پھر چیخا -

'وہ کہہ رہا ہے کہ آپ ادھر ہی ہو کیونکہ وہ آپ کو سن سکتا ہے '

دندان ساز دانت کا معائینہ کرتا رہا - کام ختم کر چکنے کے بعد اس نےدانت کو میز پر رکھا اور بولا -

'کیا خوب ہے "

اس نے ڈرل دوبارہ چالو کی -اور ایک گتے کے ڈبے سے جہاں وہ ادھورے منصوبے جمع رکھتا تھا ایک برج کے کئی پرزے نکالے اور سونا پالش کرنے لگا -

'پاپا'

'کیا؟'

اس کے چہرے کا تاثر تبدیل نہیں ہوا تھا -

'وہ کہہ رہا ہے کہ اگر آپ نے اس کا دانت نہ نکالا تو وہ آپ کو گولی مار دے گا '

ہڑبڑاے بغیر انتہائی سکون کے ساتھ اس نے ڈرل کے پیڈل کو روکا، اسے اپنی کرسی سے ہٹایا اور میز کے نچلے دراز کو پورا کھولا - روالور وہاں موجود تھا -

'ٹھیک ہے ' اس نے کہا - 'اسے کہو کہ اندر آ جاۓ اور مجھے اڑا دے '-

اس نے کرسی کو دروازے کی مخالف سمت میں گھمایا - اس کا ہاتھ دراز کی نکر پہ تھا - مئیر دروازے سے نمودار ہوا -اس کے چہرے کا بایاں حصہ شیو شدہ تھا مگر دایاں حصہ سوجا ہواتھا اوراس پہ پانچ دن کی داڑھی تھی -

دندان ساز کو اس کی آنکھوں میں کئی راتوں کی بےچینی دکھائی دی. اس نے دراز کو اپنی انگلیوں کی پوروں سے بند کر دیا اور نرمی سے کہا :

'بیٹھ جاؤ '

'صبح بخیر ' مئیر بولا -

'بخیر '

آلات جراحی پانی میں ابل رہے تھے مئیر نے اپنا سر کرسی پہ ٹیکا -اسے کچھ سکون محسوس ہوا - اگرچہ اس کی سانسیں ٹھٹھری ہوئی تھیں -اس نے ماحول کا جائزہ لیا - یہ ایک غریبانہ دفتر تھا -ایک پرانی لکڑی کی کرسی، پاوں سے چلنے والی ڈرل،شیشے کے کیس میں مٹیالی بوتلیں - کرسی کے سامنے کھڑکی اور اس کے اوپر کندھے تلک کپڑے کا پردہ -جب اس نے دندان ساز کو آتے دیکھا تو اس نے اپنی ایڑیاں کھینچیں اور منہ کھول دیا -

آریلیو ایسکووار نے اس کا منہ روشنی کی طرف کیا -سوجے ہوۓ جبڑے میں بیمار دانت کا معائینہ کرنے کے بعد اس نے مئیر کا منہ اپنی انگلیوں کے ایک محتاط دباؤ کے ساتھ بند کیا-

'یہ کام سن کیے بغیر ہو گا ' اس نے کہا -

'وہ کیوں؟'

'اس لئیے کہ یہ پیپ شدہ ہے '

مئیر نے اس کی آنکھوں میں آنکھیں ڈال کر کہا 'ٹھیک ہے' اور مسکرانے کی کوشش کی -

دندان ساز نے مسکراہٹ کا جواب مسکراہٹ سے نہ دیا- وہ ابلے ہوے اور جراثیموں سے پاک آلات کی طشتری کام کرنے والی میز پہ لایا -کسی عجلت کے بغیر انہیں ایک ٹھنڈے چمٹے کی بدولت نکالا -جوتے کی نوک سے اس نے تھوکدان کا منہ کهولا-اور اپنے ہاتھ دھونے واش بیسن کی طرف چلا گیا - یہ سب کچھ اس نے مئیر کی طرف دیکھے بغیر کیا- لیکن اس دوران مئیر نے اس سے اپنی آنکیں نہ ہٹائیں -

یہ نچلی عقل داڑھ تھی - ماہر دنداں نے اپنے پاؤں پھیلاۓ اور بیمار دانت کو گرم چمٹے سے جکڑا -مئیر نے کرسی کے بازو بھینچے ، اپنی پوری طاقت سے ایڑیاں کسیں ، اسے اپنا پتہ پانی ہوتا لگا ہوا مگر اس نے منہ سے ایک آواز نہ نکالی - دندان ساز نے اپنی کلائی کو جنبش دی- جذبات میں آے بنا سرد مہری سے اس نے کہا -

'اب قائم ہو جاؤ- جو تم نے ہمارے بیس مارے تھے،ان کی قیمت دینے کا وقت آ گیا ہے '

مئیر کو اپنے جبڑے میں ھڈیاں چکنا چور ہوتی محسوس ہویں اور اس کی آنکھیں اشکوں سے بھر گیں -مگر جب تک دانت باہر نہ آیا اس نے سانس روکی رکھا -پھر اس نے اسے اپنے آنسوں کے بیچ سے دیکھا - یہ دانت اسے اپنے درد سے اتنا غیر لگا کہ اسے پچھلی پانچ راتوں کے عذاب کی وجہ سمجھ نہ آئی -

پسینے سے شابور اور ہامپتے ہوے وہ اگالدان پہ جھکا اور قمیض کھولتے ہوے اپنی پتلون کی جیب سے رومال نکالنے لگا - دندانساز نے اسے ایک صاف کپڑا تھمایا اور کہا

'آنسو پونچھ لو'

مئیر نے ایسا ہی کیا- وہ کانپ رہا تھا. جب ڈنٹسٹ اپنے ہاتھ دھو رہا تھا، اس نے اکھڑتی ہوئی چھت پہ مکڑی کا مٹیالا جالا اور اس میں اس کے انڈے اور کچھ مرے ہوے کیڑے دکھائی دیے - ڈنٹسٹ مڑا اور ہاتھوں کو سکاتے ہوے بولا -'اب سو جانا اور نمکین پانی سے غرارے کرنا '-

مئیر اٹھ کھڑا ہوا ' فوجی نخرے سے سلوٹ مارتے ہوے الوداع کہا اور کوٹی کے بندھ بندے بغیر ٹانگیں سیدھی کرتا ہوا دروازے کی طرف چل پڑا -

'بل بھیج دینا ' اس نے کہا -

'تمہیں یا بلدیہ کو'

مئیر نے اس کی طرف دیکھے بغیر دروازہ بند کیا اورپردے کے پار سے بولا -

'سالہ ایک ہی بات ہے '



Standard Oil Co. (by Pablo Neruda, Canto General, 1940) Urdu Translation

Standard Oil Co. (by Pablo Neruda, Canto General, 1940) Urdu Translation

Halqa Arbab e Zauq NY had a program on the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. It was a long desire of Baji Nusrat Anwar. 
I attempted to translate one of his poems in Urdu.

For most of the readers, Pablo Neruda needs no introduction. A Nobel laureate, a committed communist, traveler of the world, a colleague of Allende, the voice of the under-privileged and a great poet.

In short what Faiz is to Urdu, Neruda is to the Spanish language and to the world.

Standard Oil is one of the poems in Canto General, his epic work, written in 1940. 

Standard Oil Company , founded by John Rockefeller, was the grandfather of almost all the oil companies of today, including ExxonMobil, Amoco, Chervon and part of BP. In short a perfect example of exploitation par excellence.

I translated it from the English translation. So there must be many nuances of the original language lost due to the intervening language.

There is a good you-tube rendition of the English translation at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFc-afPmrso

Here is the English, translation followed by my Urdu translation. In the end is the original Spanish.

https://revolutionaryfrontlines.wordpress.com/2010/06/26/standard-oil-co-by-pablo-neruda-canto-general/

When the drill bored down toward the stony fissures
and plunged its implacable intestine
into the subterranean estates,
and dead years, eyes of the ages,
imprisoned plants’ roots
and scaly systems
became strata of water,
fire shot up through the tubes
transformed into cold liquid,
in the customs house of the heights,
issuing from its world of sinister depth,
it encountered a pale engineer
and a title deed.

However entangled the petroleum’s arteries may be,
however the layers may change their silent site
and move their sovereignty amid the earth’s bowels,
when the fountain gushes its paraffin foliage,
Standard Oil arrived beforehand
with its checks and it guns,
with its governments and its prisoners.

Their obese emperors from New York
are suave smiling assassins
who buy silk, nylon, cigars
petty tyrants and dictators.

They buy countries, people, seas, police, county councils,
distant regions where the poor hoard their corn
like misers their gold:
Standard Oil awakens them,
clothes them in uniforms, designates
which brother is the enemy.
the Paraguayan fights its war,
and the Bolivian wastes away
in the jungle with its machine gun.

A President assassinated for a drop of petroleum,
a million-acre mortgage,
a swift execution on a morning mortal with light, petrified,
a new prison camp for subversives,
in Patagonia, a betrayal, scattered shots
beneath a petroliferous moon,
a subtle change of ministers
in the capital, a whisper
like an oil tide,
and zap, you’ll see
how Standard Oil’s letters shine above the clouds,
above the seas, in your home,
illuminating their dominions.

Translated by Jack Schmitt

And here is Urdu:

سنگلاخ چٹانوں کے دل سے 

چکریلہ نشتر پار ہوا 

اور پہنچا اس گہرائی تک 

جو خاص تناؤ کے اندر 

اک عرصے سے  خوابیدہ ہے 

جو ہم سے پہلے گزر گۓ 

سو لاکھ ہزاروں سال قبل 

حشرات چرند پرند درند

وہ آبی تھے یا خاکی تھے 

پس گۓ وقت کے دھارے میں 

یہ کیسا کشیدی کھیل ہوا 

اسلاف کا ترکہ تیل ہوا 

اس ڈرل کی نوکیلی نشتر سے 

یہ کسا غبارہ پھٹتا ہے 

اور کالا خون اچھلتا ہے 

برفیلی موم میں ڈھلتا ہے

یہ کھیل محرر خانوں میں 

ایوانوں  میں اور تھانوں میں 

پردے میں خاموشی کے 

اک اور مچلکہ فرد ہوا 

مزدور کا چہرہ زرد ہوا 

---------------------

جو صدیوں سے خوابیدہ تھا 

زیر زمیں شریانوں میں

اس شورش سے بیدار ہوا   

 اس کا جو اظہار ہوا 

یہ معدن کس کا حصہ ہے 

جو اس دھرتی پہ بستا ہے 

یا جو مزدوری کرتا ہے

انصاف کی اس عدالت میں 

یہ فیصلہ ہونے سے پہلے 

خود ایس -او ہے موجود وہاں 

اک ہاتھ میں اس کے ہے چک بک 

اک ہاتھ میں ہے بندوق میاں 

سرکار بھی اس کی سنگت میں 

جب چاہے پناوے ہتھکڑیاں 

-----------------------------

نیو یارک کے اونچے برجوں  پہ 

یہ تخت سجاۓ بیٹھے ہیں 

یہ شکم غفیر مجاور ہیں 

جو زیر لب مسکاتے ہیں 

اور موت کا کھیل رچاتے ہیں 

ہر چیز خرید لے جاتے ہیں 

وہ سنبل ہو یا سندس  ہو

  شیشہ ہو یا بیڑہ ہو 

وہ رہزن ہو یا لیڈر ہو

کوئی چھوٹا موٹا جابر ہو 

یا کاٹے کا ڈکٹیٹر ہو 

یہ سب کا سودا کرتے ہیں 

-------------------------

ہر شخص خریدا جاتا ہے 

رجواڑے میں یا باڑے میں 

قانون کا منتر پڑھتا ہو 

آئین کا جنترکرتا ہو 

وہ دانہ دانہ گنتا ہو 

یا سونا چاندی کرتا ہو 

ہر ایک کہ یہ بیوپاری ہیں 

یہ ایسا سبق پڑھائیں گے 

کہ وردی اسے چڑھائیں گے 

پھر بھائی سے لڑوائیں گے 

سب ان کی لڑائ لڑتے ہیں 

پراگوین مرتے ہیں

ان کہ مشینی اسلحے سے

جنگلوں میں بولیویا کے 

مرتے مرتے سڑتے ہیں 

---------------------------

پٹرول کے اک قطرے کہ عوض 

اک رہبر مارا جاتا ہے 

جو حد نظر تک جاتی ہے 

وہ دھرتی گروی ہوتی ہے 

جو ان کے آگے اٹھتی ہے 

وہ گردن ماری جاتی ہے 

جو گردن ہاتھ میں نہ آۓ 

زنجیر میں جکڑی جاتی ہے 

جو ان کا سلایا جاگ پڑے 

تو راتوں کی خاموشی میں 

وعدوں کوبھلایا جاتا ہے 

سولی پہ چڑھایا جاتا ہے 

آموس گھنی تاریکی میں 

منحوس رسی خاموشی سے 

طاغوتی عقبت خانوں میں 

مقتدرہ کے ایوانوں میں 

کابینہ بدلی جاتی ہے 

جو ان کا سلایا جاگ پڑا 

وہ پھر سے سلایا جاتا ہے 

اور پھر توایسے لگتا ہے 

سرکار سٹینڈرڈ آئل کا 

ہر بادل پہ ہر ساحل پہ

ہر وادی میں ہر گھاٹی میں 

سب برجوں پہ چوراھوں میں 

ہر گام پہ نام چمکتا ہے 

سٹینڈرڈ آئل کی برکت سے 

یہ دھرتی جگ مگ کرتی ہے

And here is the original Spanish.

Cuando el barreno se abrió paso 
hacia las simas pedregales 
y hundió su intestino implacable 
en las haciendas subterráneas, 
y los años muertos, los ojos 
de las edades, las raíces 
de las plantas encarceladas 
y los sistemas escamosos 
se hicieron estratas del agua, 
subió por los tubos el fuego 
convertido en líquido frío, 
en la aduana de las alturas 
a la salida de su mundo 
de profundidad tenebrosa, 
encontró un pálido ingeniero 
y un título de propietario. 

Aunque se enreden los caminos 
del petróleo, aunque las napas 
cambien su sitio silencioso 
y muevan su soberanía 
entre los vientres de la tierra, 
cuando sacude el surtidor 
su ramaje de parafina, 
antes llegó la Standard Oil 
con sus letrados y sus botas, 
con sus cheques y sus fusiles, 
con sus gobiernos y sus presos. 

Sus obesos emperadores 
viven en New York, son suaves 
y sonrientes asesinos, 
que compran seda, nylon, puros, 
tiranuelos y dictadores. 

Compran países, pueblos, mares, 
policías, diputaciones, 
lejanas comarcas en donde 
los pobres guardan su maíz 
como los avaros el oro: 
la Standard Oil los despierta, 
los uniforma, les designa 
cuál es el hermano enemigo, 
y el paraguayo hace su guerra 
y el boliviano se deshace 
con su ametralladora en la selva. 

Un presidente asesinado 
por una gota de petróleo, 
una hipoteca de millones 
de hectáreas, un fusilamiento 
rápido en una mañana 
mortal de luz, petrificada, 
un nuevo campo de presos 
subversivos, en Patagonia, 
una traición, un tiroteo 
bajo la luna petrolada, 
un cambio sutil de ministros 
en la capital, un rumor 
como una marea de aceite, 
y luego el zarpazo, y verás 
cómo brillan, sobre las nubes, 
sobre los mares, en tu casa, 
las letras de la Standard Oil 
iluminando sus dominios. 

THE FRAGMENTED THRONE and LEGACY of TIPU SULTAN

 Treasures from India: Jewels from the Al-Thani Collection 

 

THE FRAGMENTED THRONE

and

LEGACY

of

TIPU SULTAN

Al Thani Collection

Hassan Al Thani is a Qatari art collector and between him and his family members there is a large art collection showcased in various museums and gallerias internationally.

Recently closed, there was an exhibition of his collections at the Met, titled Treasures from India. It caught my attention as it contained the finial, the top portion, of the throne of Tipu Sultan.
http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2014/treasures-from-india

There were supposedly eight of them, the throne was broken in order to share the spoils of war. One is in Windsor Castle. This one was found in a Scottish home, and auctioned a few years back.

Another of his collection was a magic box.



Not really clear what was the purpose of it, but divided in twenty equilateral triangles, all have an Arabic number on them, supposedly to solve some arithmetic problem.

We have been fascinated by Tipu Sultan, and while growing up, he is one of the few undisputed heroes we read of. He is the one credited with the quote that one day of tiger's live is better than hundred years of a jackal.

We were raised with superhuman image of Tipu Sultan, who would have defeated East India Company had it not been the conspiracies of fellow Muslims, the Nizams of Deccan and his own vizir Mir Sadiq, who betrayed by pulling troops during the Siege of Sirangapatam to collect their salaries.

Reading up on him make me realize that he was perhaps the only one who defeated the English more than once. He was smart, clever and had reached out to Afghanistan, Constantinople and Napoleon to find an alliance against the British.  He may even be credited with the first one using rockets in warfare.
 
Although many Muslims rulers of India who fought and were defeated or killed by the East India Company like, Bahadur Shah Zafar, Sirajud Dula and likes occupy a hero's status in India, Tipu Sultan does not.

And the reason is not that complementary. There are many accounts of his intolerance and savagery to non Muslims. Granted most of the accounts are by English and Hindus and have their biases but his own writings in letters to others do not help either. He seems to be very clear in his goal to establish the Kingdom of God on earth. His proclamations are clearly laced with concepts of religious war against the infidels. He is fighting with Marhattas as much as he is fighting the East India Company.

By some accounts, he had destroyed multiple Churches and Temples, and forcibly converted Christians and Hindus to Islam. And by forcible conversion I mean forcible circumcision.

 We were also told as kids the the English were smart enough to make sure that there is no more Tipu and thus had taken his sons to England and were completely brainwashed. I could not see any reference to that. There was a revolt ie the Vellore Mutiny in 1806 where the family members and other prisoners revolted and were mercilessly crushed. Perhaps most of the surviving family lives in Calcutta and rest scattered all over the world.

Sufi Hazrat Inayat Khan, father of the Noor Inayat Khan, who was portrayed in the World Unit Production movie Enemy of the Reich, was grandson of a granddaughter of Tipu Sultan.

Well that is what it is. History is always a mixed bag. He was one who chose to die with sword in his hand rather than running away to fight for another day.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasirgondal/sets/72157650282810866/

Oscar Shorts 2015, My Picks

Just came back from watching Oscar Shorts

http://theoscarshorts.shorts.tv/

My pick
Animated Shorts:  Me and My Moulton
Live Action Shorts.  Butter Lamp 








LIVE ACTION SHORTS:

Pervaneh: Story of a teenager Afghani girl in Zurich, trying to find legal status, being financially exploited and trying to help a struggling family back home. Accidentally finds friendship and experience liberty meeting up a renegade Caucasian girl,

Butter Lamp:A roving portrait photographer in a small town in Tibet (perhaps). Excellent portrayl of characters. Groups of people come and get their pictures taken in front of background screens of views of all over China, Tieenman Square, Great Wall, Monasteryies etc. Powerfal play of human emotions in an otherwise ordinary situation.

Phone Call: Will perhaps get the Oscar. Excellent role by Sally Hawkins of Blue Jasmine fame. Acts as a crisis center telephone worker who helps a miserable man live through the last minutes of his life, while herself anxiously waiting to meet her boyfriend at 7 PM

Aya: An Israeli women cannot resist an oppurtunity to be someone else for some time and runs away for a short time, with a Danish music judge who takes her as his pickup driver from Tel Aviv to Jerusulam. She lets herself wander a bit too much before she heads home,

Boogaloo and Graham:Most Funny. Story of two brothers in Belfast given chicken by their dad as a present, start to love them and would not compromise on anything to be separated from them. Most hilarious joke lines.

ANIMATED SHORTS:


Me and My Moulton: A story of three sisters in Norway, living on limited resources with what-they-think weird parents, longing for a better life. Finding out in end that happiness can be in small things and appreciate their parents despite their limitations. Old style animation, simple budget very well done.

Feast:
Typical Disney style. High tech animation, a gluttony dog, ultimately helps get his owner win the love of his life, and everybody lives and eats happily thereafter

The Bigger Picture: Story of two brothers and their dying mother. One lives at home and takes care of house chores and the other is worldly successful, have sibling rivalry, but find peace between themselves after mother dies. Very artistic painting style animation.

A Single Life:
A very short movie, only two minutes, With in the playback of a record, one lives the whole life from pizza loving kid to cremation and all the stages in between. Very artfully done.

Sweet Cocoon:Funny high tech animation of a cocoon and finally turning into a beutifyl butterfly for a split second before being eaten up by a bird. Pixar typical

The Dam Keeper: Story of a neglected piglet who doubles as the Dam Keeper of a town and is a day time school kid, How he is either avoided or bullied and how tender feelings are cultivated once he meets a mate.

Footprints: A complicated satire on trigger happy gun lovers

Duet: A typical Disney animation of a boy, his dog and the girl though different stages of life, from infants to a loving couple. A fairly tale. Goo music and dance animation, nothing much else

Bus Story: A dark humor story of a bus driver rookie in rural Canada.

Hundred Shades of New York by Mustansar Hussain Tarar

Hundred Shades of New York

by

Mustansar Hussain Tarar

I had to re-write all of this. This has never happened to me before. Google does not save a copy of what you draft. I spend all the time in writing this peace and inadvertently pressed the delete button one more time than I should have. And I lost the whole draft. 

So, here I go again, and hopefully I do not make the same mistake again. Perhaps I wrote something Providence didn't like and hence suffered this fate. 

So, last December, I was in Lahore airport waiting to come back to NY. It was the foggiest day and the six a.m. PIA flight ultimately took off after thirteen hours. I had a lot of time to kill in the International lobby. On my umpteenth visit to the lone book store, I finally picked up the book. It had an attractive cover, Mustansar Hussain Tarar ( it seems that one has to say his full name otherwise something is left out) sporting an unworn jersey around his neck with Lady Liberty and NY Skyline in the background. My journey was long and the book would make good company. Why not. It was a recent book, about his trip in 2005 and so not that much about the distant past.

I had never read his travelogues, which are I presume his main claim to fame; in his writings, I mean.  I have read his two novels, Raakh and Des Howay Perdes and really enjoyed Raakh. It is a very powerful story. And obviously everybody knows Tarrar as a tv person, as an actor and an anchor.

It is a long book, more than 650 pages, and although it is named for NY, has more than 150 pages about Florida; Orlando and its environs to be specific.

He claims he never felt a desire to visit USA as he thought there was nothing much to see here. He had traveled the world extensively which is obvious looking at his list of books. He thought of America as a land of gaudy and belligerent people, who have nothing to impress him; so not worth his time and money.

He visits USA in 2005, that is where the book is set in, to see his first grandson for the first time and to attend his first birthday. His daughter, a physician had married a Pakistani American and moved to Orlando. Now Mr Nofal, named after Warqa b Nofal is to celebrate his first birthday. In addition to that, his son, a CSS officer in Foreign Service, is in NY on a World Bank scholarship to study International Relations in Columbia and is living in a Broadway apartment. 

He lands at JFK and anticipates 'special treatment' being a Pakistani. To his astonishment he has a rather pleasant and positive experience. he somehow feels deprived of what he expected.

Tarar has the amazing skill to explain the things in a vivid way. He takes you along with him and no matter how much he wanders into the details he does not let you drift far away. The readers believes he has been wherever Tarar takes him. He has quite strong opinions on almost everything, but when his observations and experiences let him feel differently than what he thinks he should, he is not shy to admit and change his opinion. That is a rather unique characteristic different from our other writers. Many would bend over backwards and come up with convoluted explanations to stick to their initial position in the face of obvious on the contrary; not him. Tarar has the courage to admit and change.

He starts his book with reference to Maxim Gorky's 'City of the Yellow Devil'. Written at the turn of last century, it is a scathing account of NY and the superficial and shallow life of its inhabitants. He predicts it as a doomed city which corrupts those who live in it. This was the mindset Tarar came in with. Before he left, New York had changed him and his opinion. He admits falling in love with the city.

He spends considerable amount of time and pages of his books on visiting various museums and centers of arts. From Metropolitan Museum of Art to Museum of Natural History to Guggenheim Museum to Museum of Modern Art to Lincoln Center to Broadway Theaters to The Public Library and the Greenwich Village. He shows the excitement of a child and does not feel shy at all expressing it when talking about the artifacts he had known and read about all these years. 

Being an artist and raised in the 40's and 50's he mentions time and again names he had felt a connection all his life. From Allen Poe to Whitman, Mark Twain to Hemingway, Charles Ray to Louis Armstrong, Rock Hudson to Al Pacino, Elizabeth Taylor to Whitney Houston and of course Marilyn Monroe.

He does not like country music and loves Jazz.

A tendency seen in many but perfected by him is the way he connects what is in front of us with what is in our collective past. He finds similarities in strange ways, hidden from many eyes. Looking at the staircase of Guggenheim he recalls the Minar of Samarra Mosque in Iraq and the Giraldo in Seville. Jazz reminds him of a painful voice of the oppressed people around the world. 

On his visit to New York Public Library, he searches for Urdu books and to his dismay finds a very limited collection. He offers his books to be there and three of his books are now part of the collection. That includes Bahao, Raakh and Qurbat e Marg main Muhabat, a sort of trilogy.

He enjoys the strolls in the Central Park and is in Times Square the first night in New York. He visits many other neighborhoods like Harlem's 125th Street and Chinatown. He has an interesting conversation with a Jewish Rabbi.

Writing about the Village, he recalls the gayness of the area and the Stone-well Inn. He reminds the West and his readers that certain areas in Pakistan are far ahead in the creed of brotherly love. He could not help admit how he had felt a heartbeat dropped while watching a performance of a Lakhtai dancing boy from Bannu.

He runs into a Pakistani in Greenwich Village; in fact an Uzbek from Peshawar. His attempts at hospitality looks suspicious to Tarar as feigned. In his excitement to show Tarar a Cafe owned by a Pakistani and frequented by Al Pacino, he asks Tarar whether he has ever heard of Al Pacino. Tarar, feeling offended, writes and I translate. "Not all but many Pakistanis living in New York, have this problem; coming straight from Mandi Bahuddin, having never been to Lahore or Peshawar, landing directly in New York, ask you, 'Do you know what is a Pizza?Have you heard of Statue of Liberty?, Do you know Marilyn Monroe?"

While talking about the superficiality of a nova rich Pakistani, he exposes, in my opinion, the problem of the educated intelligentsia elite. Why he picked up Mandi? Perhaps there is a close personal connection; the Wikipedia mentions his birthplace as Mandi and Lahore on the same page.

The Uzbeb takes him to Cafe Vivladi, which has Woody Allen and Al Pacino connections; the Pakistani owner is not present. He talks to him on the phone and offers him a return visit when he could entertain Tarrar appropriately. Tarrar takes it as a shallow gesture and does not even remember his name. Ishrat Ansari is a gem of a person and has patronized art of various sorts through his Cafe which has regular live performances. Tarar, I feel, is rough with him.

Another common style of our writers and Tarrar is no exception here, is to express quite freely while elaborating upon the physical attributes of women of color; whether they are from African or Asian origin. Moreover he is amazed why Americans go crazy about the less endowed Audrey Hepburn and Jackie Kennedy.

He has no good words for US Presidents expect one. Strangely that is Richard Nixon. Like a believer in conspiracy theories, he almost absolves Nixon of his actions and puts the blame of his exit on the 'secret hand' and says that Nixon was made to leave by the powers to be.

He makes a comment that during his various visits to the Met, he hardly saw any Asian, or South Asian to be specific. That must be his sampling error, as they are there all the times.

Although he mentions a few Pakistani friends and artists whom he meets, he does not spend any time on the social and literary life of Pakistanis in New York. Shaukhat Fehmi and Hammad Khan are amongst the lucky ones mentioned. 

Thanks to Tarar, I came to know the full name and age of Mamoon Aimen who was his class mate in elementary school; and so is Dr Khalid Butt, the famous transplant surgeon.

Errors, minor but noteworthy

While commenting on the food, he expressed his dislike of American Pizza. He mentions that Pizza are better in Europe and that Americans did not make this Italian dish right. I did not know before coming to NY that Pizza was 'invented' in USA by Italian Americans, particularly in New York.

While talking about Julia Roberts he called her movie American Beauty. I think he meant Pretty Women

He mentions Captain James Yee, The first Muslim Chaplain in the military.  He called him a doctor which he is not. I am glad that he mentioned Yee as he was the first one to expose the treatment of Gitmo prisoners and had to pay a heavy price for that. 

While talking of Orlando, he mentions Disney World as Disneyland. Disney Land is in California. 

Overall I enjoyed reading the book although it took me a lot longer than I thought to complete it. It was interesting to read about a place you live in for major part of your life, explained by someone who shares your background and is visiting it as a tourist. 

The Bosnian Tragedy and The Graphic Novels

 

Safe Area Gorazde, a Graphic Novel by Joe Sacco

 

 

Yesterday, on January 30th, 2015 the appeal of some of the Serbians convicted of the Srebrenica massacre in 1995, were denied and the verdict upheld
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-31053503

The Bosnian war took place during my years of training. I had a peripheral awareness of it. Those days of residency and fellowship were the most ignorant of my adult life. I was almost completely unaware of the world affairs and politics. Vaguely remember realizing that there is a significant Muslim population in Europe and that they were mostly at the receiving end of the atrocities.Now years later, I know many Bosnians. I go to Ridgewood/Glendale section in Queens twice a month. There is a Bosnian community and has a beautiful mosque on Myrtle Avenue.

GRAPHIC NOVELS:
Earlier this month, my niece gave me two graphic novels for my birthday. It introduced me to a new genre of literature. Written like a comic book, but containing serious material, it is quite popular with the millennials. Now that they are older adults, hence the popularity of graphic novels these days.

The two books I got and read were both serious material and dealt with the life under conflict or autocratic rule. First was 'Pyongyang" by Guy Delisle, a French Canadian who now lives in France. He traveled to North Korea, as a representative of A TV company, it gives a rare peek into the life of the most secluded country of today. More on that at http://ghareebkhana.blogspot.com/2015/01/guy-delisle-pyongyang.html

The other book was on Bosnia.
It tells the story of the tragedy which befell on Bosnia through the eyes, ears and pencil sketches of Joe Sacco who as a journalists spend considerable time in Gorazde. With an introduction by none other than Christopher Hitchens it is an easy to read treasure of a book.

Gorazde was one of the 'safe areas' declared by UN during the Civil War. It was raided by Bosnian Serbs two times but largely survived the massacre. It however was home to many refugees from other areas which fell under Bosnian Serb rule.

A graphic novel tells you a lot more than what is written in it. Each page has three to six graphic sketches. One can spent a lot of time absorbing the details of each sketch: facial expressions, the background, the devastation and the pillage, the gloom and the tyranny, the hope and the resolve; all are marvelously expressed in black and white pencil work. It is a much under appreciated form of art.

 HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:

First a primer on the background. For details one can reference may sites. One reliable timeline is http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-17212376

In short, in my words, I understand the history as follows. It is an oversimplification, however.

Bosnia was the most ethnically diverse part of the Republic of Yugoslavia. It had a majority of Muslims (descendents of Slavs who converted to Islam during Ottoman rule) and rest divided into Catholic Croats and Orthodox Serbs.
 

 Pre and Post WWI

This southern Slav area was under Austrian annexation when a Bosnian Serb killed an Austrian prince in Sarajevo leading to World War I. At the end of the WWI it evolved as the State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs. During World War II Croats sided with Nazis and committed atrocities against Serbs. The Serb resistance was divided in two main factions, the Chetniks who were nationalists and the Partisans. Muslims could be found on all sides of conflict during WWII; they were either in  SS under Nazis or part of various groups. After the war, the Partisans eventually prevailed pushing the Chetniks to the side. Tito was a Partisan and was half Serb, half Slovenian.


Tito's Yugoslavia

Tito formed this artificial country called Yugoslavia, which had Serbia (along with Kosovo as an autonomous region), Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Macedonia and Montenegro. He managed to maintain his policy of Brotherhood and Unity without letting the grievances of nationalists aired. They eventually blew up when Tito was gone.

When the Iron Curtain fell, the first to secede were Slovenia, Croatia and Macedonia. The other two were able to leave the union without much issue, but as Croatia had significant Serb population, there was unrest and Serbs created a state-let of their own in Croatia.

BOSNIAN INDEPENDENCE AND THE CIVIL WAR:
Bosnia, on a crossroad to either go separate or remain in the rump Yugoslavia, run by Slobodan Milosevic, eventually declared independence. Bosnian Muslims and Bosnian Croats formed a coalition and the Bosnian Serbs wanted to secede. Their leader was Radovan Karadzic, a Columbia trained physician. Civil war broke out. Bosnian Serbs quickly took over most of the east of Bosnia, while the Croats had north east under their control. The Muslim areas were then declared 'safe areas' by UN, including Sarajevo, Srebrenica and Gorazde. The last two were on the Drina River, hence called Drina Valley. It was very close to the Republic of Serbia, and hence under heavy Serb influence.



 Safe Areas 1992

Looking at a map of that time, it was like three or more islands of these safe areas, and they were connected to each other by roads through Serb controlled areas. The roads could only be used by UN convoys who usually had blue caps, hence called Blue Roads. These roads were often blocked by Serbs and many a times UN forces had been held hostage by them.

THE BUTCHERS OF BOSNIA:


The Srebsinica Massacre


In 1995 Serbs overtook Srebsinica and took the Danish Peacekeepers hostage. They let the women and children leave and kept the men. Eventually the Peacekeepers were let go and they looked the other way. Around 8000 men were massacred, the highest toll in post WWII Europe. It was after that that NATO decided to have the air campaign. (including the 'accidental' bombing of Chinese Embassy). It let to the Dayton Peace Accord and Bosnia survived as a confederation of Republika Srpska of Serbs and the Muslim-Croat Federation with a rotating presidency. Gorazde is connected with Sarajevo though a wider corridor and stays in Muslim-Croat Federation.


Killing on Drina River


 A PLACE CALLED GORAZDE:
Back to the Book. Joe Sacco is a Maltese born American journalist, who spends quite a good time in the besieged safe area of Gorazde (Gore-aj-day or Gorr-as-dee). The city was attacked in 1992 and then in 1995. Just before the first attack, one morning most of the Muslims residents found that the Serb population has vanished overnight. They knew it coming and were forewarned to leave.  In those days it is a war torn city, besieged, where people cannot go anywhere, have to survive on their own.

It tells the stories of common people with normal aspirations: Silly girls still wanting the true label jeans from Sarejavo from Sacco on his visits to Sarejavo, the mutual dislike of rural Gorazde and the urban Sarajevo, the gradual tensions and breach of trust between life long neighbors ie Serbs and Muslims and the realization that they could not live together again.



ANALOGY TO PUNJAB:
I could not help draw the comparisons and analogies in my mind to what happened in Punjab or what could have happened in Punjab.



The Partition of Punjab

Consider, for a moment, the former Yugoslavia as united India. At the time of Partition, the rest of India breaks away into different countries or states, and Punjab, like Bosnia,is one of them. It has Muslim majority but has significant number of Hindus and Sikhs. For examples Hindus want to secede and be part of a greater India, and there is a civil war. It would have been on almost similar dimensions. Same breach of trust between communities, living side by side, centuries old unresolved tensions found their way to be expressed violently and mercilessly. In fact it happened, although the sequence of events was not exactly in 1946-48 as it was in 1991-1995 in Bosnia. Punjab saw ethnic cleansing and Balkanisation half a century before these terms were coined.

Slobodan Milosevic died mysteriously while in custody, Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic are where nobody would like to be.