Urge to Fly

Mohammad Hussain Azad's Aab-e-hayaat (Water of Life) is regarded as the first documented 'history' of Urdu literature. It is a book that has shaped and influenced the thoughts of the Urdu literary community all through the 20th century. I'm not much of an on-line reader, so while a link to the online version of the English translation by F.W Pritchett and S.R Faruqui figures prominently in my IE favorites folder, I desperately wanted to own a copy of the book. So you can imagine my delight when I found an old copy of this translation at a bookshop last week.

As I opened the book, I was quite amused by the very first line. The translators try to warn the reader –

"Āb-e ḥayāt is not a trustworthy history of Urdu literature. It cannot and should not be read as such."

Now, this is interesting… the first documented 'history' of Urdu literature is not 'trustworthy' after all. As I dived deeper into the initial chapters – the translators' introductory notes – it became obvious to me that the translators felt very strongly about what Azad had written in this seminal book.

"The unique power exerted by Āb-e ḥayāt is what made us decide to translate this exasperating, moving, wrongheaded, fascinating, all-too-persuasive text."

As I moved further along, I understood why FWP and SRF used these words to describe the book. While theorizing on the history of Urdu literature, Azad starts off with a critique, going completely ballistic in condemning the stagnation that had crept into classical Urdu poetry. Given the influential status of Azad's book, generations of critics that came after him perpetuated the same thought process, so much so that classical Urdu poetry (ghazal in particular) lost its stature in the eyes of the people. It's quite common to read points of view that condemn the ghazal as 'decadent' or 'immoral'.

Azad's main concern, however ill-founded it was, was that by drawing Persian imagery and metaphors into Urdu poetry, and then by holding on to it, the Urdu language was stagnating. His point is that many of the conventions used in classical Urdu poetry are alien to the Hindustani milieu and no efforts were made to lend vibrancy to the language by indigenizing or even widening the scope of these metaphors, or for that matter exploring new themes. He had a problem with ghazal restricting itself primarily to themes of love and sensuousness, which is thought of as 'immoral'.

This is how Azad puts it:

"Those same fixed things! Here and there we move the words around, here and there we do some substitutions--and we keep on composing with them. As if they're morsels that have already been eaten--or at least chewed--by other people. We chew on them, and we're happy. Think about it--what relish do they still have left? Beauty and love--marvelous!--very fine! But for how long? Whether she's a Houri or a Pari, once you're stuck with her, she becomes sickening. How long can it be till you get fed up with beauty and love? And by now she's become a hundred-year-old crone!"

Azad was not alone in this thinking. Altaf Hussain 'Hali', who was even more vitriolic in his diatribe against classical Urdu poetic traditions, went on to say the exact same thing in his critique. I have read Azad and Hali only cursorily, so I can't really comment on the validity of their attacks, but it sure makes for some very interesting reading.

Interestingly, both Azad and Hali, and many others after them, start their histories with scathing attacks on the quality of Urdu literature. The work of their successors compelled Ralph Russell to write a brilliant piece called How Not to Write the History of Urdu literature. His point – "if you don’t think much of Urdu Literature, please don't go to the trouble of writing a history of it"

The bigger problem with Azad's and Hali's views is that they take their Anglophilia to ridiculous heights by proclaiming Western poetry to be much superior to classical Urdu poetry because it was based on 'nature' and things 'real', whereas Urdu poetry was prone to extreme exaggeration and 'unreal' themes. They prescribe the adoption of 'natural' poetry, like - say - Wordsworth. They even urge – at least Hali does in no uncertain terms – that poets should look at the West for inspiration.

'हाली' अब आओ पैरवी-ए-मग़रिबी करें
बस इक़्तिदा-ए-मुसहफ़ी-ओ-मीर हो चुकी

'Hali', come now, let us follow the West;
Enough of the leadership of 'Mus-hafi' and 'Mir'

What? An urge to imitate the West? As FWP would ask: What next? Wordsworthify Ghalib?

I need to read more of Azad and Hali before I can comment on this aspect of their critique, but from the face of it they seem to ask poets to strip the ghazal of its inherent charm, which comes through exaggeration and abundant use of metaphors.

First, let's get a few facts right:

1. J.P Dutta's Umrao Jaan is not a 'remake' of Muzaffar Ali's 1981 version; it's another interpretation of Mirza Hadi Ruswa's novel. The screenplays of the two films are completely different. If there is anything common, it's the fact that both Ali and Dutta have taken creative liberty to change the tone of the original story to romanticize the character of Umrao Jaan and transform her into a tragic lovelorn heroine. Both follow the same adaptation 'device' of modifying the chronology of events and putting actual events from the book in a different context to lend more sadness to the protagonist's character.

2. Muzaffar Ali's 1981 version was not a commercial success. Despite a plethora of well-deserved awards (except the hugely controversial National Award for Rekha), the film's business was below average (my memory fails me, but I think it was probably a box-office disaster…but, then, when did box-office returns become a measure of a film's quality?).

3. Muzaffar Ali's 1981 version is not the 'original' adaptation of Ruswa's book. It's only the most well-known and authentic. There have been two eminently forgettable attempts before that – Mehndi (1958) and Zindagi Aur Toofan (1975).

It is important to keep the above in mind because many film journalists, with their shocking lack of knowledge and unpardonable disdain for research, would have us believe the contrary.

Now let me get to J.P Dutta's adaptation of Umrao Jaan. In my earlier post on Don I have made my disdain for comparisons very obvious, but that's precisely what I would end up doing here. However, I would compare J.P Dutta's film with the book which it is adapted from, and not Muzaffar Ali's film. If any reference to Muzaffar Ali's version comes up, it will only be in the context of the book. (I have only read Khushwant Singh and M.A Husaini's English translation of the book, so any observations I make about the book or any lines I quote are based solely on that reading)

J.P Dutta's film follows the same narrative structure as the book, where in her twilight years Umrao Jaan tells the story of her life to the author – Ruswa. In that respect J.P Dutta tries to be closer to the book than Muzaffar Ali. I was quite pleased with the way J.P Dutta chose to start his film. The initial unfolding of events was quite true to the book, except for the complete elimination of the character of Ram Dei – a girl who forms a short-lived bond with Umrao in captivity before she is sold-off to a rich Begum. The character of Ram Dei is quite important in the book, as she re-surfaces at a later point in the story to accentuate the irony of fate. So, in eliminating the character of Ram Dei from his film, Dutta set the stage for major changes that were to follow. As the movie progressed, one could see more changes creeping into the story.

I'm all for making changes to literary works to suit the medium of celluloid, so long as it doesn't alter the spirit of the original writing. Interestingly, both Ali and Dutta had to 're-arrange' their scripts (even though the re-arrangements in the two versions were very different) for exactly the same reason. They both wanted to focus on the romance between Umrao Jaan and Nawab Sultan and had to 'create' a plausible reason for their separation. In the book, Umrao offers no explanation. She simply says, "Alas! the heavy hand of separation fell upon our union" and moves ahead with her story. How could a love-story, especially the one that forms the crux of the film version, end so abruptly? So both Ali and Dutta play with the chronology of events, borrow from other episodes within the book and transmigrate them to the story of Umrao and Nawab Sultan. Quite innovative you might say, but Dutta goes a step further and creates a few entirely new events to add twists to the story. While that lends certain logic to the story as it unfolds, it transforms Dutta's Nawab Sultan (Abhishek Bachchan) into someone completely unidentifiable with Ruswa's Nawab Sultan.

Also, the liaison between Umrao and Nawab Sultan had its foundation on their mutual passion for poetry. In the books their romance unfolds through a series of poetry sessions. But J.P Dutta's Sultan comes in purely for physical pleasure: his love is driven by lust, it seems.

Over-emphasis on the Nawab Sultan episode by Dutta - and also to some extent by Ali - does gross injustice to Ruswa's book. Ruswa's book portrays Umrao Jaan as a courtesan who has liaisons with several men during her life because of her profession. While she remembers each of them fondly, and probably even alludes to an extra soft corner for the Nawab, she does not admit to 'real love' for any of them. When she looks back upon her life and narrates her story to Mirza Ruswa, she does so in a matter-of-fact manner devoid of any self-pity – a far cry from her melancholic narration in Dutta's film. In the book she is "a woman of experience who has slaked her thirst at many a stream (ghat ghat ka paani piya hai)" who confesses that "no man has ever loved me nor did I really love any man" because she is "but a courtesan in whose profession love is a current coin". Now how can one create a tragic heroine out of a person like this without making significant alterations to the text? But why did Dutta have to make Umrao Jaan into a chaste courtesan who sleeps only with the love of her life – Sultan – and takes a vow of fidelity? What on earth happened to Gauhar Mirza, who was the "first one to pluck the flower"? Or Nawab Rashid who was fooled into believing that he was the chosen one to initiate Umrao into the profession by "deflowering" her? Or Faiz Ali who loved her (Umrao too continued to pretend that she really loved him)? Or several others who appear either as specific characters or mere mentions in the book?

Dutta seems quite confused about how he wants to project the kotha. The kothas of 19th Century Lucknow also played an important role as schools of culture and etiquette where young nawabs were encouraged to go to learn about performing arts and culture, in addition to learning the "facts of life". Dutta's kotha largely focuses only on the aspect of flesh trade. Yet, when it comes to portraying Umrao, he tries to transform her into a Pakeezah (the pure one).

The main problem with Dutta's script is that most characters have either not been properly developed or altered significantly. Gauhar Mirza (Puru Raj Kumar), Bismillah (Divya Dutta), Khursheed (Ayesha Jhulka), Faiz Ali (Suneil Shetty) – all had significant roles to play in the literary Umrao's life, but in the film all except Faiz Ali get very marginal roles, almost as if their presence was only incidental. Even Faiz Ali's character has been changed drastically. Except the fact that he's a dacoit who Umrao elopes with, every single aspect of his character and role have no relation to Ruswa's story. Ditto with Gauhar Mirza. The only character who comes across just the way Ruswa envisioned is Khanum, played with characteristic ease by Shabana Azmi.

After reading so much criticism of J.P Dutta's script, you might think that I 'hated' the film. Actually not. There were definitely some aspects of the film that I enjoyed, but each of these aspects had a flip side to it. For a moment, let me put comparisons with the book aside, and try to evaluate this film as an 'original' screenplay.

First and foremost, I appreciate Dutta's good intentions of exposing today's generation to the beauty of urdu zabaan and lakhnawi tehzeeb. It takes courage to do an Urdu film, in an age where Hinglish is fast becoming the lingua franca of people. It's a pleasure to hear the main characters of Umrao Jaan mouth dialogue in chaste Urdu. The problem is that except a few – Shabana Azmi and Aishwarya Rai who has evidently worked hard on her diction – no other actor can carry it off. At many places the lakhnawi flavour of the language is missing. And even chaste Hindi words like maan-maryada creep into the dialogue at times.

Next, the production values of the film are quite good. The sets are opulent, the costumes and jewellery exquisite. While the film is a visual delight, the objective of recreating 19th century Lucknow is not achieved. Nawab Sultan dons a Pathani look, Faiz Ali is more Afghani, and despite J.P Dutta's best effort, the Rajasthani element ends up making brief, yet damaging appearances in the art decoration. I was quite amused by the objections being made by some people from Lucknow about the side-parting of Ash's hair or the topa she wears or Nawab Sultan's turban, but after watching the film I tend to agree with them that spirit of Lucknow is missing from Umrao Jaan. Interestingly, though lakhnawis claim that Nawabs never wore a turban in Avadh, Mirza Ruswa in his book clearly mentions that when Umrao first sees Nawab Sultan he's wearing a "turban of gold brocade". So did Dutta get it right? Not really, because the golden turban Abhishek wears is worn in a Rajasthani style.

The narration of Umrao's story demands a bit of thehrav, a relaxed unfolding of events. That calls for some patience on the part of the audiences who are used to instant gratification. I don't blame people if they find the film very slow moving. However, I think J.P Dutta got carried away and completely forgot that a slow film need not be boring. Some of the sequences are so long drawn out that one loses interest after a while. When Nawab Sultan returns to the kotha in a drunken state, his scene with Umrao takes boredom to new heights. I wouldn't mind even a 15 minute scene where Umrao and Nawab might just exchange poetry or converse in high-flown Urdu. But here, there is no poetry to appreciate, there's no delicacy of zabaan to relish, and there's really nothing consequential going on. It hurts. The film is so long that by the time the film ends, it seems that you've been sitting at the theatre for ages. I did not get bored because I was carefully listening, analyzing and appreciating the language of the film. But for someone who does not appreciate Urdu it can be quite a torture. This confirms my belief that when the same person handles the editing and direction of a film, the film suffers because the director invariably takes over from the editor. We saw that in the recent Jaan-e-Mann and now again in Umrao Jaan, and even in some of Raj Kapoor's films.

I am probably one of the very few people who have liked Anu Malik's music in Umrao Jaan. After watching the film, people are cursing the movie even more because they think the songs add unnecessarily to the length of the film. I disagree with this. The songs, and the lyrics, are the highlights of this film. Instead of dialogue, the narrative moves through songs. If Umrao wants to say something, she says it through a ghazal (remember, Ruswa's Umrao is a poetess). I also think very highly of Vaibhavi Merchant's choreography. Her steps, movements and gestures are full of ada, as one would expect in a film about a 19th century tawa'if. However, I would have loved it even more if during the classical music interludes and 'thekas/ todas' of some of the mujras, she had focussed on the dancer's footwork instead of shifting the camera to the other characters.

Aishwarya looks stunning as Umrao Jaan. It is also evident that she has worked hard on her performance and dialogue delivery. I always considered her as a beautiful face with no acting talent. But in Umrao Jaan she is quite good, if only by her standards. So while it cannot be rated as a great performance in absolute terms, coming from Ash it certainly is a good job. Sadly, Abhishek disappoints big time. And I wouldn't only blame the script for that. His performance is very flat, something one doesn't expect from an actor who has shown considerable improvement over the years. The only actor who is consistently good in the film is Shabana Azmi (what else did you expect?)

On the whole, while J.P Dutta's Umrao Jaan has some positive aspects to it, it doesn't come across as a genuine attempt at recreating Ruswa's novel. And the length of the film, just kills it!

I know a lot of people who love to spend their spare time reading a book - reading is a passion for them. Almost all of them picked the habit as a kid. In that respect, I’m more of an exception. The reading bug never bit me as a kid, though my parents, especially my mom, were always strong advocates of reading as a habit. They would take my brother and me to Book Fairs and buy a lot of books for us, but while my brother took on to reading fairly early – making quantum jumps from Enid Blytons to Hardy Boys to Ludlums by the time he was 10, the habit never really caught on with me. If at all I read anything, it was only due to peer pressure; I didn't want to feel left out when my brother and our friends discussed the latest Hardy Boys adventure. I didn't enjoy reading as a kid. I didn't have the patience for it.

It was fairly late in life that I truly discovered the pleasure of reading. Actually, it was the writing bug that bit me first. It started with a diary that I maintained very religiously, then I moved to the next logical step of shaping my diary into a semi-autographical book, and finally I found my passion - poetry. And when I started writing, I was naturally drawn towards reading. Since I had chosen Hindi and Urdu as the languages of choice for my poetry, I mostly read classical Hindi Literature and Urdu poetry. After a while, the language didn't matter. I was hooked and would read just about anything I could lay my hands on.

Books have been my constant companion for many years now. They have been with me through thick and thin. There have been times where I have neglected them due to pressures of time, but like a faithful friend they have never left me. The kind of comfort and solace one finds in friendship, I find in books. If I'm not in the best of moods, if I'm depressed, if I'm lonely, or, for that matter, if I'm in high spirits, if I'm elated – books have always been with me. They are with me, yet give me the space I sometimes yearn for.

When I'm in a depressingly philiosophical mood, I think books are in fact better than people. They don't have the power to hurt you, or have expectations that you can't possibly live up to. If you aren't able to give them enough attention, they don't accuse you of being detached, or insensitive, or inconsiderate. On the flip side, if you spend a lot of time with them, they don't question your motives, or look for intentions where none exist, or undermine your feelings, or demand their space, or want to cut-off, or expect a realignment...They remain with you unconditionally.

I'm amazed at the number of books I've read in the last 2-3 months. And these books don't fall into any particular genre. I've read poetry (Ghalib, Gulzar, Vikram Seth), biographies (Ghalib, Two Lives), short stories (Gulzar, Jhumpa Lahiri), books about relationships (An Equal Music, A Misalliance), family saga (A Suitable Boy), magic-realism (Shalimar the Clown), chewing-gum fiction (Chetan Bhagat variety), thrillers (Dan Brown type), and even Harry Potter books all over again. Right now I'm reading Jhumpa Lahiri's 'Namesake'. And I have already bought a few more books that I would read after that. I've enjoyed reading each of these books despite the inconsistency in their literary value. More importantly, they have helped me tide over the tough times I have been through. They have been my true friends, my soulmates.

So the film is finally out! Is it good? Does it live up to the hype?

Everyone who has seen the film will tell you that the book is better. Of course it is. But does that necessarily make it a bad film? Not at all, but let me try first to analyse why the book seems better.

When was the last time you watched a film that was as good as (if not better than) the book it was based on. For a moment let's forget about The Godfather or the LoTR trilogy (though some people do feel that these films could not capture the spirit of the books – I disagree). I think that books and films are very different media: what works in one does not necessarily work in the other. In a book, the author can easily delve into the minds of its characters; all he needs is some good imagination and a way with words. But how can one capture that on a visual medium like film? There are a few time tested techniques for that, but they don’t always work. Let's take two examples – a dream, and the thought process a person goes through while, say, cracking a code. While a good, imaginative director can visually depict a dream very well, it's quite a challenge to portray a person’s thought process on screen, no matter how good the actor is. That's precisely where The Da Vinci Code, the film, cannot live up to the promise of the book.

The other constraint that a film has is that of time. While Dan Brown could take his own sweet time to go into the details of how Robert Langdon cracked the codes, Ron Howard does not have that luxury. He had to condense all of it into 150 minutes (which by itself is quite longer than an average Hollywood film). So we have Tom Hanks quickly cracking all the codes from 'The Vitruvian Man' to the 'pinnacle' to the 'Fibonacci Sequence' to 'The Mona Lisa' to 'Madonna of the Rocks' in a matter of just 5 minutes of screen time. Agreed that Robert Langdon cracks the code fairly quickly in the book as well, but the whole process of putting the jigsaw together is explained through many pages. So it sounds much more believable in the book than in the film.

Now let's come to the most important reason. Why was the book so popular? It's true that it was written in a very racy style, but I think the reason for its unprecedented popularity was something else. It was shocking (an extremely clever juxtaposition of fact and fiction)! So when you read the book, you were hooked on because of the shocking twists and turns that came up with alarming (at times also a little predictable) regularity. Now when you've read the book and borne the shocks, what else can you expect in the film? So I don't blame the people who feel that the film is not as engrossing as the book. However, I would love to hear the views of someone who knew very little about the book before watching the film. I doubt if I will find anyone like that, though.

Back to my original question, Is it a bad film? I don't think so. If a film can engross me for 150 minutes, despite the fact that I know exactly what would happen next, it has to be the work of a competent director. So Mr. Ron Howard, you get my thumbs up!

Before I end, I must quote what my favorite critic, Roger Ebert writes about 'The Da Vinci Code':

'Dan Brown's novel is utterly preposterous; Ron Howard's movie is preposterously entertaining.'

Touché.

I've recently finished reading Vikram Seth’s Two Lives. It's a fascinating book. Part memoir, but largely biography, this book is about the tumultuous lives of the author's granduncle and grandaunt. What I like most about the book, apart from the uncomplicated and direct narrative style (which is expected out of Vikram Seth anyway), is the fact that we learn about the two remarkable individuals largely through the letters they exchange with each other and their other friends. While the author was lucky to 'interview' his granduncle and get his side of the story first hand, he had nothing to refer when it came to writing about his grandaunt (not even his granduncle had complete visibility to his wife's pre-marital life). As the author himself observes, this book would never have got written, but for the chance discovery of a set of letters that were very carefully preserved by his grandaunt. And the depth of information we get from that is infinitely more and much richer than what even a first-hand interview could give.

Last week I received an email from a friend. It was quite a general email, but there was one line that is largely responsible for this post. It simply said, 'Hey why don’t you mail me once in a while?'

Vikram Seth's book and my friend's email set me thinking. When was the last time I wrote a letter? If my memory serves me right, that was almost 6 years back. Or an email? Well, I do write emails, albeit very rarely, except when there’s something really important to talk about. In the world of instant messengers and text messages, who has the time to sit back, reflect and write a letter? This is what I call being slaves to technology. It seems that the only ways to connect with people we care about are IMs and SMSes. I must admit that I find them very convenient to stay in touch, but they are really not as 'personal' as a letter, or even an email. There is no place for emotions in these technologies. Technology is supposed to bring us closer, not pull us apart at an emotional level. Email too is technology, but when you sit down to type an email, it's just like writing a letter. You reflect, you collect your thoughts; and, if you've taken the effort to keep all diversions at bay, you can type (or write) exactly what you want to say. That's what I just cannot achieve through an IM. I tend to be very reactive on IMs, primarily due to the conversational nature of the communication and I'm not really a 'conversations' person. Also, I need time to reflect on my thoughts and IM just doesn't give me that luxury. Some of my friends would know that many a time I follow-up an IM conversation with an email, especially when we have talked about something important. Having said this, I admit that I'm just as guilty of depending too much on instant conversations as anybody else.

Take this friend for example. We had been in regular touch earlier, but somehow our interactions 'virtually' ended. Not that we had a fight or something - not at all. Just that our interactions happened only through IMs, and when due to certain compulsions we couldn’t use IMs we completely lost touch. Now, is that an excuse to lose touch with friends?

I hardly use IM these days for reasons I don't want to get into and which, in any case, are not relevant to this post; and that should, in a way, help me stick to what I have decided now. I have decided that from now on I will be more regular in writing to people I care about.

Thank you Mr. Seth, and thank you my dear friend, for making me realize that!