"Mera kalma hai tu, Azaan hai..."

Anyone who is familiar with the Indian entertainment industry will undoubtedly notice the popularity of Sufi-inspired music and settings within Hindi films. And especially to me, as an enthusiast of both Islamic societies around the world and of secular Indian society, the intersection of Islam and the secular institution of "Bollywood" interests me a great deal.

But what's new about this? Absolutely nothing. Urdu and Sufi-inspired art made its way into the Indian entertainment industry since before Independence. Many lyricists, musicians, singers, and actors were Muslim. Moreover, figures like Mughal-e-Azam's cast of Madhubala and Dilip Kumar were originally from Peshawar. At the time of Partition, much of the Muslim talent in the industry decided to remain in India, and some even adopted Hindu names when Hindu-Muslim riots enveloped the region.

But this is a completely divergent - though important - story.

If nothing is new about the participation of Islamic influences in the industry...why am I writing this post? I'm writing this in response to a song  which isn't exemplary or iconic in any manner, but it illustrates the spark in my mind with relevance to this topic.

The song is "Rab Ka Shukrana" from the film Jannat 2. And from this song, I want to highlight a set of lines from the chorus:

तू ही अब मेरा दीन है, इमान है 

تو ہی اب میرا دیں ہے، ایمان ہے 

You are my religion, you are my faith

रब का शुक्राना 

رب کا شکرانہ 

Thanks to God

मेरा कलमा है तू, अज़ान है 

میرا کلمہ ہے تو، اذان ہے 

You are my kalma, you are my azaan

रब का शुक्राना

رب کا شکرانہ 

Thanks to God

So what's special about these lines? In my opinion, four words -- deen, imaan, kalma, azaan. It's normal to hear rich Urdu metaphors in Bollywood songs, but these seemed very direct to me. For example, kalma refers to the Islamic testimony that 'there is no God but Allah and that Muhammad is his messenger'. Also, the azaan is the famous (sometimes infamous) Muslim call to prayer. 

With such strong Islamic imagery presented in such a sultry song (reference the video) -- one would expect Deobandis or Salafis somewhere in world to have announced a fatwa for likening such sacred concepts to such worldly contexts. It happened with Atif Aslam's "Tere Liye" when the word "khudaaii" was misunderstood to mean "God." It also occurred with AR Rahman's "Chaiyya Chaiyya" when some interpreted the line "PaaoN ke neeche jannat hogi" as slandering the Muslim notion of heaven.

But with "Rab Ka Shukrana" I could only find one lonely voice of protest under the title 'Shirk in Jannat 2 song. 'Shirk' refers to the condemned notion of idolatry and polytheism in Islam.

I was just listening the song Rab ka shukrana .. . i highlighted blasphemous lyrics in the song "rab ka shukrana". i strictly condemn this blasphemous song, it was kind of distorting our beloved religion islam . this pathetic song was sung by a hindu singer mohit chuhan . he and all the crew included in making this song were not suppose to hurt sentiment of billions of muslims . . it should be banned . This film is named as jannat 2 . I just hope that all the Muslims around the world will endorse me. I want all of you to listen this song before posting a comment. Thanks

The fact that neither conservative Muslims, nor right-wing Hindutva parties (like the Shiv Sena) are more opposed to the presence of Islamic rhetoric (or its misappropriation) on the big screen is very encouraging. Perhaps there is greater understanding in society, but I strongly doubt it. I think, at the moment, India's troublemakers have realized that there are more important issues to address as their constituents are protesting the increase in prices and the decrease in the value of the Indian Rupee. 

As for the atheist in me...I couldn't care less about what's idolatry and what's not. It's good music, it's poetry. 

Lyrics: "Tu Hindu Banega Na Musalman Banega"

तू हिन्दू बनेगा न मुसलमान बनेगा
تو ہندو بنےگا نہ مسلمان بنےگا
You'll become neither Hindu nor Muslim

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human
(as opposed to being labeled as Hindu or Muslim)

अच्छा है अभी तक तेरा कुछ नाम नहीं है
اچھا  ہے ابھی تک تیرا کچھ نام نہیں ہے
Good that 'til now you have no name

तुझको किसी मज़हब से कोई काम नहीं है
تجھ کو کسی مذہب سے کوئی کام نہیں ہے
You have no dealing with any religion

जिस इल्म ने इंसानों को तक़सीम किया है
جس علم نے انسانوں کو تقسیم کیا ہے
The knowledge which has divided humans

उस इल्म का  तुझ पर कोई इलज़ाम नहीं है
اس علم کا تجھ پر کوئی الزام نہیں ہے
That knowledge will not burden you
(with accusations)

तू बदले हुए वक़्त की पहचान बनेगा
تو بدلے ہوئے وقت کی پہچان بنےگا
You will be the face of the changing times

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

मालिक ने हर इंसान को इंसान बनाया
مالک نے ہر انسان کو انسان بنایا
God made each a human

हम ने उसे हिन्दू या मुसलमान बनाया
ہم نے اسے ہندو یا مسلمان بنایا
We made each a Hindu or a Muslim

क़ुदरत ने तो बख्शी थी हमें एक ही धरती
قدرت نے تو بخشی تھی ہمیں ایک ہی دھرتی
Nature allocated one earth to us

हम ने कहीं भारत कहीं ईरान बनाया
ہم نے کہیں بھارت کہیں ایران بنایا  
Whereas we have created India and Iran

जो तोड़ दे हर बांध वह तूफ़ान बनेगा
جو توڑ دے ہر باندھ وہ طوفان بنےگا
The one who breaks each lock will become a storm

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

नफ़रत जो सिखाए वह धर्म तेरा नहीं है
نفرت جو سکھاے وہ دھرم تیرا نہیں ہے
The religion that teaches hatred is not yours

इंसान को जो रौंदे वह क़दम तेरा नहीं है
انسان کو جو روندے وہ قدم تیرا نہیں ہے
The step/foot that tramples humanity is not yours

क़ुरआन न हो जिस में वह मंदिर नहीं है तेरा
قرآن نہ ہو جس میں مندر نہیں ہے تیرا
The temple without a Qur'an is not your temple

गीता न हो जिस में वह हरम तेरा नहीं है
گیتا نہ ہو جس میں وہ حرم تیرا نہیں ہے
The mosque without a Gita is not your mosque

तू अमन का और सुलह का अरमान बनेगा
تو امن اور صلح کا ارمان بنےگا
You will become hope for peace and reconciliation

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

ये दीन के ताजर ये वतन बेचने वाले
یے دین کے تاجر یے وطن بیچنے والے
These traders of religion; these who sell the country

इंसानों की लाशों के कफ़न बेचने वाले
انسانوں کی لاشوں کے کفن بیچنے والے
These who sell the shroud off of corpses

ये महलों में बैठे हुए क़ातिल ये लुटेरे
یے مہلوں میں بیٹھے ہوے قاتل یے لٹیرے
These murderers and thieves sitting in palaces

काँटों के एवज रूह ए चमन बेचने वाले
کانٹوں کے ایوز روحِ چمن بیچنے والے
These who sell thorns instead of flowers

तू इन के लिए मौत का ऐलान बनेगा
تو ان کے لئے موت کا اعلان بنےگا
You will become their death knell

इंसान की औलाद है इंसान बनेगा
انسان کی اولاد ہے انسان بنےگا
You are the child of a human; you'll become a human

Lyricist: Sahir Ludhianvi
Transcription & Translation by Nikhil Nandigam

"Truth Alone Triumphs"

This afternoon, I finally had the opportunity to watch the first episode of Aamir Khan's hyped television show -- Satyamev Jayate. With the release of the show's theme song and its popularity, I was very interested in finding out more about the show's agenda. Would it be a travel show, and entertainment talk show? Would it be placed aside as another of the many reality shows?

My answer is that it is a combination of all three, and it is what India needs. Firstly, the objective of the show is to highlight societal issues which are often swept under the rug by upper-middle class urban Indians -- Indians who will likely form the audience of this program. Secondly, this program targets issues which well-off urban Indians believe do not affect them at all. 

In previous posts from India last summer, I discussed the existence of two Indias: 

In my opinion, there are two Indias: the “modern India” that is publicized in the West and the “establishment India” that actually runs the nation. One generates money for the nation, and the other swallows money from the nation. People would like to believe that they live in the former, when in all actuality, they live in the latter. The privileged want to stay far from this “establishment,” while the average Indian drowns in the madness.

 The first episode which can be seen on Youtube courtesy of StarPlus focuses on female feticide in India. This refers to the sex-selective abortion of unborn girls in India. So what is different in the way that Satyamev Jayate covers this topic? Haven't we already seen documentaries and news broadcasts on the topic? I would like to highlight two significant ways in which I think this program will be more effective in sticking with its audience and roping in the attention of the upper-middle class urban population. This is the sector of the population that needs to be convinced of social injustices as they are the only sector of society with a certain amount of wealth and numbers. This cannot be said of the extremely wealthy and of the average or poor Indian.

That said, Satyamev Jayate takes the correct approach to addressing a topic such as female feticide. It's angle is somewhere between the usual types of programming Indians are accustomed to: a news broadcast and a serial. SJ avoids the sensationalism of Indian broadcast journalism and it also brings its subjects closer to the audience rather than isolating them in a condescending manner.

At this point, SJ accomplishes what pure journalism mostly cannot. Aamir is able to bring his subjects -- in this case mothers forced unknowingly into an abortion -- into the spotlight where they feel safe to speak out against their circumstances, and clearly tell their stories. SJ is respectful to its subjects and it is committed to alleviating these injustices. In this episode, Aamir says he will personally write a letter to the government of Rajasthan to quicken efforts for court hearings for the victims. From this first episode, Satyamev Jayate makes it clear that it is not trying to drop by, tell a heart-wrenching story, and retreat -- the word badlaav (change) was often used. Aamir is in it for the long run.

The angle of Satyamev Jayate also avoids the melodramatic mess of the average serial. Aamir could have easily gone this route to present societal injustice. It would have been easy and familiar. Thankfully, he did not. Serials create a sense of distance and fantasy between the audience and the characters. Rather, Aamir takes a key feature from serial culture and implements it appropriately into SJ -- that is, story. The witnesses tell their stories -- given no other context. That's the first part of the show.  The stories bring the audience into Aamir's mindset. The audience, at hearing the stories, are teary-eyed, but they still see themselves as separate, as part of "modern India" and removed from these injustices.

Next, Aamir pulls the audience off of its pedestal -- and this is the second reason why I feel SJ will be very effective. It bridges the gap between the two Indias. When the camera asks urbanites about female feticide -- three words emerge:

"GaaoN" -- village
"Anparh" -- illiterate
"Ghariib"-- poor

From here, a researcher asserts that this practice did not start with the poor, or rural, or illiterate folk. And that today, it is practiced by many people of reputable careers and families. Aamir even interviews a doctor who herself was forced into an abortion by her husband. This shatters the glass wall between the two Indias.

The audience is no longer allowed to feel at ease as Amir shows that female feticide not only affects mothers of girls, but that its effects spans across all families. For example, government officials license these doctors, doctors perform these abortions, and young men around India face a shortage of women when it comes to marriage. This imbalance affects all women as there is an increase in kidnappings and gang rape.

From this point onwards, audience expressions are not teary, but they are of shock. And this is the key success of Satyamev Jayate. To force sheltered, well-off Indians to realize that an injustice has been committed, one that no one can run from -- not one that merits sympathy, but one that merits shock and anger and reform.

Hindi, Urdu, and Hindustani: Where Commonalities End and Differences Begin

A student from the United States makes her first trip to Delhi, India after spending four

semesters at the University of Michigan studying Hindi. In desperate need of a guidebook, she steps into a small, Hindu-owned store and asks,“Namaste. Mujhe ek achhii kitaab kii zaruurat hai. Kyaa aap merii madad kar sakte haiN?” (Namaste. I'm in need of a good book. Can you help me?). The storekeeper is stunned and compliments the student on her exceptional HINDI. However, the store does not stock the appropriate book. The student notices another store across the street. As she steps in, she notices the storekeeper is Muslim. Replacing a Namaste with a Salaam, she inquires about the book, employing the same word choice. Again, the storekeeper is surprised, and with a big smile on his face tells her, “Masha'Allah. Your URDU is perfect.” The puzzled student picks up her book and leaves the store.

This student had elected Hindi for the past four semesters, not Urdu! Yet, she is being

complimented for her conversational skills in this language. How is this possible? This episode depicts the nature of the Hindi-Urdu linguistic conflict at its most visible level. While notions of the two languages have diverged since independence, colloquial registers of Hindi and Urdu are almost indistinguishable from one another. This broader basis of vocabulary and syntax from which both Hindi and Urdu have developed is called Hindustani. This language is “the linguistic super family uniting all” across North India and into Pakistan (Khan 2006: 8). Moreover, it is the unifying language of the region, not of a particular race or religion (Singh 2003). Hindustani served as a lingua franca around Delhi to facilitate interaction between speakers of Khariboli and speakers of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish (Sinha 2000: 299). This language developed throughout the medieval ages and received the patronage of many British administrative institutions and various writers through the 13th-17th centuries (Sinha 2000: 300). This paper describes the fluid borders between what speech one considers as Hindi, Urdu, or Hindustani. And moreover, it explores why, in colloquial speech, certain Arabic-Persian features have gained popularity as opposed to their Sanskrit equivalents. And finally, how does the diversity in linguistic influences across North India and Pakistan translate into “linguistic politics?” In a region of the world characterized by volatile borders and fragile religious and social tension – how do linguistic choices matter?

But what are Hindi and Urdu, and more importantly, what do they signify in certain

circumstances? In which cases might a speaker be most definitely speaking Hindi or Urdu? And when might he or she be democratizing his or her speech using Hindustani? K. Gajendra Singh 2003 traces a history of the evolution of distinguished Hindi and Urdu identities post-Independence in the late 1940s. Newly independent India made its Hindi more Sanskritized and Pakistanis made their Urdu more Persianized. The outcome is a diglossia in society. Indians and Pakistanis speak relatively the same lingua franca of Hindustani on the streets – while notions of standard Hindi and standard Urdu have become polarized. Therefore, in an effort to avoid common Hindustani words, their media use a strict, artificial, stilted form of Hindi or Urdu. As Singh puts it most realistically, “the result that it is difficult for a common man to understand either Hindi or Urdu” in the “pure” form (Singh 2003).

In the case of Urdu, Tariq Rahman 2010 describes some of the reformations made to

standardize the language, in essence, to reflect a “pure” Muslim tradition. In what Rahman calls the “Muslimization of Urdu,” words from Sanskrit and local dialects were “purged out” in favor of Persian and Arabic words. In addition, allusions to a common Hindustani culture and land were replaced by references to Persian and Islamic culture and an Iranian landscape. Though the elite embraced this hyper-Persian form of speech, many others were alienated by this new, foreign understanding of Urdu (Rahman 2010: 90). The vast majority of Urdu speakers were a product of the Hindustani culture. India was their home and identity, not Iran.

Meanwhile, the newly-formed Republic of India was engaged in the translation of official

documents from English to Hindi. The outcome of this project was the creation of thousands of neologisms of Sanskrit origin describing administrative terms and practices. Examples of such neologisms which have survived into modern usage include pradhaan mantrii for prime minister, or raashTrapati for president. However, in effect, these “artificial” words lack any practical currency. Yet, these neologisms were still propagated through many spheres of influence including the Indian news media, the Indian government, and in matters of Hindu cultural context (Shackle and Snell 1990: 14). Even India's first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru said, “Aajkal jo bhaashaa nikal rahii hai pachaas percent merii samajh meiN nahiiN aatii.” (Of the language that is employed these days, 50% of it is unintelligible to me.) (Gandhi 2010).

For many reasons, one can accord the desired disparity between Hindi and Hindustani to

notions of “linguistic purity.” The Muslims were not alone in their intention of propagating cultural identity through a linguistic register. Hindu nationalists supported nationalizing a Sanskritized Hindi in hopes of invoking the concept of India as a Hindu-native nation (Shackle and Snell 1990: 43). This divergent behavior at the highest registers of Hindi and Urdu is based on something outside of linguistic factors – cultural and religious identity, nationalism. However, these “pure” registers are highly artificial and ideologically motivated.

With these bases for “pure” Hindi and Urdu in place, where do the people stand in their

daily speech in regards to this Arabic/Persian—Sanskrit spectrum? Prior to independence, the Subcontinent was divided in what Shackle and Snell call “The Urdu—Hindi—Hindustani

Debate.” While religious Hindus argued in favor of Hindi and the Devanagari script as India's national language, Muslims felt reluctant to neglect their own rich literary tradition in Urdu through the Nastaliq script. Gandhi offered Hindustani as a middle path in a compromise between both groups (Shackle and Snell 1990: 13). However, Gandhi received little support from the masses. And furthermore, Hindustani left unanswered the question of which script the nation would choose to adopt. And therefore, Hindustani was forgotten as the most practical, yet least ideologically satisfying of the choices.

But in reality, what does modern colloquial speech sound like throughout North India and

urban Pakistan? Regardless of whether speakers identify their language as Hindi or Urdu, why do they almost always choose certain synonyms over others? More specifically, why have Persian-Arabic loanwords better pervaded into popular speech? For example, the interaction the Michigan student engaged in with the Hindu storekeeper did not feature a single lexical item of Sanskrit origin. Each of the key nouns (kitaab for book, zaruurat for necessity, and madad for assistance) are loanwords of Arabic origin, yet would seem completely natural and expected as colloquial Hindi. In fact, repeating this sentence in a fully Sanskritized register would seem exceptionally stilted in a colloquial context (“Mujhe ek achhii pustak kii aavashyakataa hai. Kyaa aap merii sahaayataa kar sakte haiN?”).

The artificial nature of Sanskritized language is a result of many historical patterns in

society, government, and religion. Firstly, as Shyam Rao 1999 argues, Sanskrit was always a

dead language. Even in its “Golden Age” during the reign of the Gupta Empire, Sanskrit was not dispersed outside a “closely-knit circle of Brahmins, who jealously hid all knowledge...to themselves” (Rao 1999). The result was an identity centered around Sanskrit, a language far removed from the accessibility of the common Hindu or Indian (Neelakantan 2011). And therefore, many Sanskritized terms were not transmitted to a broader section of society. While Brahmins safeguarded their knowledge over Sanskrit, the common people of the Subcontinent were engaging with Muslim traders, rulers, and invaders since the 11th century. They settled the Subcontinent and brought with them their languages: Turkish, Persian, and Arabic (Singh 2003). And after almost three hundred years of Mughal Rule, Persian was the language of government up until 1837 (Robinson 1974: 31). Moreover, the Muslim community was not the only one educated in Persian. Even in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Persian played a role in the education of middle-class Hindu boys (Shackle and Snell 1990: 10). In fact, many Hindu writers published in Persian, including the Kashmiri Brahmin Tej Bahadur Sapri (Robinson 1974: 31).

The Persian-Arabic tradition maintained its linguistic strength against Sanskrit when the

British replaced Persian with English and introduced Urdu into the education system (Baxter 2004: 172). Under the British, Urdu gained favorable status as it was the language of the ruling Muslim bureaucratic elites (of Persian origin) across the region. Many necessary administrative terms in Persian and Urdu had already existed prior to the arrival of the British. In many ways, the British accepted Urdu as the native lingua franca of the North (Seal 1968: 304). Unlike Sanskritized Hindi, it was already a part of the public sphere for centuries prior to colonization. Urdu had absorbed elements of Hindustani and other foreign languages naturally. Most importantly, Urdu and its Persian-Arabic vocabulary had spread outside of a Muslim base into most communities. However, many see Sanskritized Hindi as an artificial language, a language releasing archaic words from a vault. The result was a dynamic Urdu and a forced Hindi which was far from everyday usage and inaccessible to the common speaker (Kelley 1992). And due to the factors listed above, the Hindustani that most Urdu and Hindi speakers actually use in everyday contexts is more Persian-Arabic influenced.

Finally, what does it mean when the institutions of Hindi and Urdu are remarkable

different from the spoken variety of either languages? How does ideology clash with reality to create a strategic “linguistic politics” in the Subcontinent. How do geopolitical tensions between India and Pakistan and communal tensions between Indian Hindus and Indian Muslims manifest themselves through language? This diglossia found between the government and literary spheres and the colloquial sphere is easily seen through two sorts of media which reflect two separate entities with very different goals. Firstly, the 'Hindi' film industry which represents speech in a quotidian context. And secondly, the news media of either India and Pakistan which represent the high registers of polarized Sanskrit and Persian varieties, respectively (Singh 2003).

The 'Hindi' Film Industry (Bollywood) has contributed in large part to the propagation of

Hindustani as a reflection of the type of colloquial speech used by millions of Indians and

Pakistanis. As a commercial institution, the Industry seeks to become accessible to as broad an audience as it can, and therefore employs Hindustani – “the most common blend of vernaculars throughout North India” (Alter 2007: 70). This decision allows audiences from across India as well as Pakistan to freely understand the films in a manner which Sanskritized Hindi would not have.

Whenever the film language became too Sanskritised, the films have not been very popular. At the same time, when a film on 'Razia' (a Turkish Queen of Delhi) utilised too Persianised Urdu, its lack of popularity could in some ways be attributed to the difficulty of the masses in understanding it. Hindustani with its vast vocabulary, form and literary variety provides the lyric and dialogue writer all the richness, elegance and nuances to express himself. (Singh 2003).

In addition, the Industry owes much of its fame and success to the Urdu tradition. Ghazals,

qawwali, shaa'iri (poetry), Sufism, and Nautch have become recurring themes in Indian cinema with roots from Turkish and Persian literature and culture. And of course these cultural institutions employ allusions and metaphors from their respective languages to describe sentiments such as love, passion, and longing (Kavoori 2008: 46). Thereby, allusions to the Arabic tale of Laila-Majnu or the Persian Shirin-Farhad entered the larger psyche of the Subcontinent as these pieces of cultural capital were propagated by the most influential film industry in the region. This phenomenon further emphasized Hindustani and Arabic-Persian roots in favor of Sanskrit equivalents. For example, millions would hear and want to replicate stars on the big screen using Arabic-Persian loanwords for love (ishq, muhabbat) in place for the Sanskrit synonym (prem). However, if the 'Hindi'' Film Industry retained much of its pre-Independence Hindustani tradition, the broadcast media had very much diverged from its common Hindustani roots. An emphasis on cultural, societal, and linguistic differences were encouraged to form national solidarity and identity. In effect, this divergence demonstrated a manufactured linguistic wall between India and Pakistan, Hindus and Muslims.

Thus, the broadcast media of India and Pakistan had become polarized with each nation

wanting to completely deny the common linguistic relationship it shares with the other. In the case of India, “Doordarshan Hindi” – “a stylistically Sanskritized form of the language” was named after the state-owned Hindi news outlet. Aside from the practical difficulties of understanding this form of Hindi, it also came with religious and political baggage. Radio and television programming was controlled by the central government which preferred Sanskritized vocabulary in all spoken language.

In addition, this variety was not only seen as Hindi, but as Hindu. This hyper-Sanskrit

variety highlighted differences in Hindu and Muslim identity and past (Ludden 1996: 100). The nationalistic rhetoric behind this variety also plays on the notion of Urdu and Islam as foreign institutions brought to the Subcontinent through violent invasion. In this way, a dichotomy was created between “virtuous” Hindi and “vicious” Urdu. In the press, Urdu was seen as a cultural force capable of turning Hindus away from their faith. Also featured was the strict concept of Urdu being Muslim and Hindi being Hindu (Jones 1992: 144). In essence, this was an either/or debate; Hindustani was a moot choice as no one could be part Hindu, part Muslim (Jones 1992:145). Dr. Imtiaz Hasnain refutes these conceptions of Urdu as a foreign, Muslim-only, even Pakistani entity. And moreover, he outlines the marginalization Indian speakers of Urdu face as a result of this religious connection. As many Indians feel Pakistani identity was created through Urdu and Islam (Hasnain 2007: 16), Hasnain cites the status of Muslims in India as hardly better off than most Dalits (Hasnain 2007: 3). This divisive “linguistic politics” plays on language as a tool of cultural, national, and religious identity.

Perhaps the best metaphor to describe the relationship between Hindi and Urdu is that of

Siamese twins destined to coexist, but the surgery of Partition ensured that each would develop its own path (Shackle and Snell 1990: 13). This history exhibits the volatile nature of language as an indicator of identity. Hindi and Urdu had existed together for centuries, but when presented with the fork in the road, each was able to dress itself differently. Most importantly, though the universal colloquial speech – Hindustani – has not changed since before Independence, it will be interesting to see whether the polarized nature of Hindi and Urdu will affect colloquial speech into the future. Already, as a result of economic liberalization, satellite TV channels have become popular in comparison to state-owned media. These new channels do not necessarily adhere to the government prescribed hyper-Sanskritized or hyper-Persianized speech. They target the urban youth. Therefore, perhaps it will not be Persian or Sanskrit which characterize tomorrow's Hindustani – but English.

Response to “Le roi de Bollywood fait plier l'extrême droite”

A brief response to an incident featuring an explosive convergence of Indian political, sport, and film cultures:

Qu'est-ce qui se passe quand les trois sphères les plus populaires de la société indienne se convergent? C'est une crise magnifique, une crise qui exige une réponse direct du peuple. Les trois sphères dont on parle: ce sont la politique, le cricket, et l'industrie de film. Cet article raconte la controverse qui suit quand ces trois pouvoirs, avec leurs idéologies différentes doivent se battre pour une victoire.

Premièrement, il faut décrire la situation qui a fait manifester ces tensions. Il est récemment devenu de mode que les vedettes indiennes achètent les équipes de cricket les plus populaires. En suivant ce mode, l'acteur le plus célèbre du nom Shahrukh Khan, est aussi devenu chef d'une grande équipe. Cet achat était accepté d'un ton tout normal avant que Shahrukh Khan a décidé de sélectionner quelques joueurs pakistanais pour son équipe indienne de cricket. A ce moment, un parti politique extrêmement conservateur de l'etat de Maharashtra (où l'industrie de Bollywood se trouve), le Shiv Sena, a déclaré que Khan était un traître. Le parti politique a protesté avec colère que Khan soi-même aurait dû partir au Pakistan. Et il faut maintenant révéler une autre complication de ce récit: un film titré My Name is Khan. Ce film bien attendu par les enthousiastes du film indien de metteur en scène Karan Johar avec Shahrukh Khan s'agit de l'identité des musulmanes après les évènements de 11 septembre. Le Shiv Sena a annoncé le boycott de ce film à Mumbai; ils croyaient que ce film qui montrerait l'islam comme une religion paisible serait une nouvelle forme de la propagande de Khan. On doit se poser la question: «Qui gagnera cette bataille? Et plus important – qui convaincra le peuple? La majorité hindoue, va-t-elle s'aligne avec les conservateurs religieux ou l'industrie de film plus laïque?»

Cette crise se termine avec une victoire pour la laïcité en Inde. On avait totalement ignoré les appels pour le boycott du nouvel film. En revanche, My Name is Khan était prononcé un énorme succès au box-office; sa popularité continue même aujourd'hui aux cinémas indiens et à l'étranger.

Avoir étudié cette situation-ci, il est devenu évident que beaucoup de problèmes et de conflits se présentent à la société sud-asiatique. Il faut encore réviser la définition d'une démocratie et les libertés accordées au peuple et le rôle limité des partis politiques sous ce système. Par exemple, est-ce qu'on vraiment possède un système gouverné par la démocratie si une petite, mais puissante faction politique peut potentiellement interdire un des plus grand films de l'an? Et sous une gouvernance démocratique, tolérera-t-on un parti politique qui se fonde sur la haine des minorités? A mon avis, toutes ces questions sont posées d'un perspective occidental ou le droit le plus essentiel reste celui d'un individu sous les lois. Mais, il me semble que la société indienne se concerne plus des sentiments d'une communauté sous la gouvernance des coutumes et habitudes traditionnelles. Ce genre de régulation sociale ne marche plus dans notre société moderne, une société dans laquelle toutes les traditions crée un mélange. Donc, il faut que chaque indien – riche ou pauvre, libéral ou conservateur, hindou ou musulmane – puisse faire une tentative de trouver une vraie démocratie indienne.

Khuda Kay Liye and New York: One Tragedy, Two Stories

American audiences have seen the disaster of the September 11, 2001 attacks memorialized on film through features such as World Trade Center and United 93. However, Hollywood is not the only industry to document the troubles faced by people in the aftermath of the tragedy. Two films from across the world have also intrigued their audiences, but from perspectives, and for purposes significantly different from America's. Pakistan's 2007 film Khuda Kay Liye (In the Name of God) by Shoaib Mansoor and India's 2009 film New York by Kabir Khan offer a glimpse into two nations that – though distant from the attacks themselves – have experienced their backlash. These two films share much in common, but also differ immensely as they appeal to different domestic audiences, each with a different message to send to the world. Pakistan, as an Islamic republic, faces the struggle of self-identity as it hopes to communicate the aspirations of moderate Muslims. And India, a pluralistic democracy, reaches out to its diverse diaspora population in the United States and the post-9/11 trials which they face. Thus, the Pakistani film Khuda Kay Liye and the Indian film New York – though both set against the backdrop of the 9/11 attacks – emphasize significantly different messages traceable to the unique demographics, film traditions, and political climates native to each nation.

Khuda Kay Liye and New York, though based on similar themes of Islamophobia and the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, are two separate products of very different populations. Pakistani demographics show a nation that is almost exclusively Muslim, and the plot of Khuda Kay Liye reflects this. One conflict in the film is the foil between the main character, Mansoor, and his brother, Sarmad. Brought up in a secular household, the brothers participate in a rock music band, a type of music that often is criticized by more extremist Muslims (Khuda Kay Liye). But Sarmad falls prey to the extremists, grows a beard, relinquishes music and photography, and even requests that his mother and grandmother adopt the hijab. Disapproving of his brother, Mansoor continues his life, relocates to Chicago to study music, and lives a typical Western lifestyle. This parallelism serves to illustrate the nature of pressures from both extremes found in Pakistani society, thus leading to a crisis over self-identity in the minds of many young Pakistanis. When straddled between two very powerful institutions as Western culture and Islam, a safe middle is boggling to retain. Husham Ahmed describes the threatening and potent nature of this crisis in his article in The Statesmen:

Pakistan’s turbulent history has widened, rather than resolved, the contradictions present in our society, leaving society as polarised as ever. The young generation is still searching for the answers that previous generations of Pakistanis have failed to provide. While groping for solutions in this dark period, the youth are exploited by certain individuals who with their oratory skills present a simplistic answer to complicated dilemmas by urging them to focus on a common external enemy. They spit venom, blabber about conspiracy theories, and preach jingoism in the media. (Ahmed)

Therefore, the Pakistani film is dealt a very heavy burden, the burden of dispelling notions that all Pakistanis or all Muslims constitute a large anti-Western force. The film must depict advocates of liberal Islam contrary to the practice of fundamentalism, and thus this conflict forms a major element of the film's plot, while the film's Indian counterpart, New York, is presented, a different, if not lighter, burden of proof.

Just as Khuda Kay Liye is a product of the Muslim identity of Pakistan, the Indian film industry's production New York appeals to a majority Hindu nation with a prevalent and affluent diaspora community. Therefore, at the film's inception, as the camera cruises over the city of New York, the director indicates that this is a story of South Asians in the United States (New York). As protagonist Omar arrives as an international student to New York and forms close friendships with suave American-born Indians Samir and Maya, it is evident that the intended audience and goals of this film are quite different from those of the more conservative and modest Khuda Kay Liye. For example, conversational registers of Hindi are intertwined with English; characters converse just as the children of Indian immigrants would. Yet in Khuda Kay Liye, the nature of the content and circumstances necessitate a higher, ornate register of Urdu.

Similarly, the cultural values depicted in New York are more secular and less focused on religion, but on greater personal morals. Film critic Omar Qureshi comments on this aspect of New York and the universal themes it propagates: “Films with which people can identify always work. Everyone can connect with films that revolve around friendships because everyone has a friend. There is no one who doesn't have a single friend” (“Bollywood”). Therefore, the Indian film is manufactured to appeal to pluralistic domestic and international Indian societies consisting of a plethora of languages, ethnicities, and religions. As Saltz writes in her New York Times review of the film, New York “hinges on loyalty, love and friendship, a holy trinity of Hindi cinema” (Saltz). Where Khuda Kay Liye is able to call upon its audience's shared experiences as Muslims, the makers of New York must expand their film's appeal to a much broader set of people. And this too constitutes a burden resting on the shoulders of the film's producers. And especially in a nation where the formulaic, romantic epic genre has reigned for decades, complete with escapist song-and-dance sequences, vengeful villains, and macho heroes – appealing to the masses with a serious film on terrorism, politics, and discrimination is a difficult argument to win.

Many of the vast differences between the Pakistani and Indian narrations of the attack's aftermath stem from the film traditions ingrained in the countries' histories. The two neighbors share a combined tradition of filmmaking which was interrupted as the region experienced a violent post-colonial partition in the late 1940s. During this period, much of the talent remained in the new Indian state, giving birth to a strong tradition of film based in then Bombay. Consequently, the Pakistani industry based in Lahore experienced a devastating brain drain (Zafar). But how does this history cement the fates of Khuda Kay Liye and New York? How does this history serve to further distinguish the features of these two films?

First, until recently, the screening of Indian films in Pakistan was illegal. Likewise, Khuda Kay Liye was the first Pakistani film to screen in Indian cinemas in 43 years. Therefore, the film is also burdened with exposing Pakistan to Indians and international audiences who have probably only seen the country through news reports detailing burgeoning elements of fundamentalism. Khuda Kay Liye's director Shoaib Mansoor remarks that he was “shocked by the ignorance” of Indians regarding life in Pakistan:

Indian films never stopped coming to Pakistan, on DVDs, so every Pakistani is absolutely clear about the way of life in India, about how everything works in India. But there is nothing coming in the other direction, with the result that India has very clear misconceptions about Pakistan. They had very surprising ideas about Pakistan. They asked: ‘Do you have taxis there?’ ‘Can women drive?’ ‘Are women allowed to go to university?’ They thought Pakistan consisted entirely of fanatics and mullahs. (Gentleman)

This “two-way mirror” effect between the neighboring countries has resulted in dangerous stereotypes of Pakistan, and Mansoor's efforts to exhibit the identity crisis Pakistan is suffering works to placate these notions. As popular Indian script writer and lyricist Javed Akhtar comments, “ Ignorance breeds suspicion and suspicion breeds hate; it creates huge villains. There is a lot to be heard and seen by Indian and by U.S. audiences here [in Khuda Kay Liye]” (Iqbal). But if Pakistan's Khuda Kay Liye possesses soul and an honest goal of changing world opinion, what it lacks, according to Indian critic Subhash Jha, is that “it is not a pot-boiler; it doesn’t have the audience-pulling big stars” (Gentleman). However, this commercial appeal is exactly what New York can claim.

The Indian film tradition originates from escapist sagas of romance and sentimental family dramas, and the grim topics explored in New York diverge from this traditional path to box-office success. But the producers of New York have not completely abandoned this tested and well-worn formula. The attractive, fair-skinned superstars, the catchy songs, the glamorous fashions and locations are all found in Kabir Khan's film. Glenn Whipp of the Los Angeles Times locates these elements of the Indian film tradition in that the characters as students at a fictitious New York college “have no cares (and apparently no classes).” Furthermore, “musical montages repeatedly emphasize youthful passion and Omar's unrequited love for Maya” (Whipp). These facets of a traditional Indian film as demonstrated in New York, unlike Khuda Kay Liye, demonstrate how the makers of New York are forced to maintain a level of commercial elements among a background of more gripping, realistic elements such as terrorism, politics, and anti- Muslim discrimination. Thus, one may interpret this expectation of gloss and glamour as well as a coherent, well-researched chronicle of the September 11 aftermath as another burden for New York.

Not only are Khuda Kay Liye and New York products of their respective intended audiences and countries' film traditions, but the manner of each film's storytelling is also attributed to the political climate in each nation. First, any discussion of Pakistani politics entails Pakistani military engagements on two separate fronts: the Afghani border in the West and Kashmir in the East. Regarding the conflict in the West, Khuda Kay Liye documents Sarmad's fall into the hands of fundamentalism and his departure from the liberalism of Lahore to the tribal regions to participate in jihad. During this period, Sarmad is trapped by the blinding influence of Maulana Tahiri. As Makarand Paranjape notices in his book Altered Destinations, “the bad mullah [Maulana Tahiri] has a distinctly Pashto or Afghani accent.” This subtle, but meaningful use of language serves to underline the contempt that liberal Pakistanis hold against what they view as extremist influences from Afghanistan sweeping their cities and towns. A public policy think tank, the New America Foundation confirms this view. In a 2009 testimony before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Steve Coll presented that “ Pakistan's struggle to achieve its constitutional and founding ideals of democracy, pluralism, and a culture rooted in a modernizing Islam have been impeded in part by the spillover effects of continual warfare in Afghanistan” (Cole). This animosity between liberal, urban Pakistanis and the lawlessness of the tribal regions intensifies when one also takes into consideration US violations of Pakistani sovereignty with drone attacks on Pakistani territory and subsequent deaths (Brulliard and Hussain).

But this more recent conflict has done nothing to subdue the long-standing rivalry between Pakistan and India, also a conflict subtly addressed in Khuda Kay Liye. Once Mansoor reaches the United States, he quickly adapts to Western life, but the attacks in New York shake up Mansoor's progressing American dream. He is discriminated against, called a “terrorist” due to his Muslim identity, and faces brutal Guantanamo-style detention by the Americans. Paranjape interprets this course in the film as an exercise in finger-pointing at the Indians for their role in the marginalization of Muslims worldwide. Paranjape continues in Altered Destinations: “the man who betrays him [Mansoor] is a Sikh, an Indian who, when he is drunk, gets into a brawl and calls him a terrorist because the Sikh's own family members have been killed by Islamic terrorists back in India” (Paranjape). This statement not only makes claims toward the nature of Pakistani-Indian relations from a regional perspective, but also points to the political climate of domestic Muslim-Hindu relations in the Indian community.

The question of coexistence of India's diverse religious communities is one addressed, by necessity rather than by choice, in the film New York. In the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, Samir, Omar, and Maya transform from being average college students to representatives of a people deemed anti-American, regressive, and violent. Eventually, Samir is detained in Guantanamo-like circumstances by American intelligence claiming that Samir participates in a terror cell located in New York. Vijay Nair criticizes this aspect of Indian filmmaking in his article in The Hindu when he reprimands Indian films for acquiescing to the sensitive and controversial nature of politics – thus resorting to stereotypes. Nair urges that:

None of these films try to reflect on the phenomenon of terrorism intelligently. Mainstream directors are likely to balk at the idea of terrorism being spawned by truths closer at home [in India]. It is only by design and not accident that a New York...unfolds in the American context. The two feuding parties, the white American population, as well as the Islamic terrorists, can be perceived as adversaries by the Indian audience (Nair).

Nair's analysis of New York's placement of stereotypes for both political as well as commercial reasons, points to the atmosphere of Indian-Pakistani and larger Hindu-Muslim relations in the Subcontinent. Just as in Khuda Kay Liye, Pakistan points its finger at Afghanistan as the source of fundamentalist activity, in New York, India directs its criticism to its alienated, ghettoed Muslim minority and at Pakistan. Neither nation is willing to accept its role in the growth of fundamentalism within its borders. India will not affirm the effects of Muslim marginalization in a largely Hindu society, while Pakistan will not affirm its inability to govern the lawless tribal provinces. Thus, both nations' politicians, and both nations' films, find scapegoats in the United States and in each other.

Khuda Kay Liye and New York are two films about one world-changing event told from two profoundly different perspectives. The mixture of the spice and sultry heat of South Asia blend with explosive topics such as prejudice, politics, and identity to form two films incapable of transcending the cynical nature of their homelands. Khuda Kay Liye offers to the world a glimpse into Pakistan's struggle over its modern identity, the strides of its meager film industry, and the lack of pragmatism in its corrupt politics. Meanwhile, two years later, New York exports another glossy drama to its Indian audiences detailing how despite addressing a serious topic, Indian film cannot detach itself from glamour and resorting to stereotypes in order to narrate a story. However, given difficult circumstances in the Subcontinent, both films also suffer from heavy burdens which restrict the filmmakers and their intentions. Khuda Kay Liye must communicate a message to its Muslim audiences that they have a choice between two paths: fundamentalism and liberalism. And with either choice, they cannot escape criticism. Similarly, New York is pressured to create a film experience that is grossly commercial, yet able to appeal to India's pluralistic society and its diverse overseas markets. Given these pressures, both films merit a strong level of praise for addressing their stories in a meaningful and poignant, if biased, style – something films before them, and many after, have failed to accomplish.

 

A Letter to the Editor...

The following letter-to-the-editor was composed by me and sent to Mr. Phil Contrino of Boxoffice Magazine, the official publication of the National Association of Theater Owners.

It provides an argument for the economic and cultural benefits of increased public exposure to the Hindi film industry in the United States.

Dear Mr. Phil Contrino:

In Frank Capra’s words, “Film is one of the three universal languages, the other two: mathematics and music.” As editor of Boxoffice Magazine, you are very well aware of film’s universal intrigue. In fact, you and your readers are among the world’s elite consumers (and producers) of film. Hollywood is undoubtedly recognized worldwide for its progressive, experimental, absorbing, and timeless works of art; however, film aficionados in the United States are unfortunately unaware of another art form: Bollywood. If Capra termed mathematics, music, and film to be the three universal languages, then Indian films shall be the fourth – for they represent a perfect coalescence between the aesthetic, the auditory, and the sentimental.

The promotion of this style of filmmaking is confined today to the country’s metropolises. These films’ potential audiences, and profits, are thereby inappropriately limited. But with a proper raise in awareness among the cinema elite, acknowledgement of potential profits by cinema owners, and continued interest on the part of consumers – the expansion of Bollywood in localities nationwide would prove conducive to the American moviegoer.

Referred to by the popular portmanteau “Bollywood,” the Indian film industry is not, as the name suggests, a sketchy rip-off of its American counterpart. The Indian films of today no longer represent the three-hour long, melodramatic, jingoistic, escapist masala films of yesteryear. Rather, as Richard Corliss of Time Magazine suggests, these films are “visually intoxicating…pristine…and visual chic.” Having grown up with these films and having witnessed the revolution in the Mumbai-based industry, I am convinced that the American audience is ready for something new, something different.

American moviegoers and critics have praised Mira Nair’s The Namesake, danced to AR Rahman’s Jai Ho, and read Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth. As Somini Sengupta named the phenomenon in her New York Times article, Americans are inebriated by “the new Indo chic” or even “Indofrenzy.” But in the opinion of any Indophile, this phenomenon is pitifully incomplete without exposure to Indian films. Organizations such as the National Association of Theater Owners must acknowledge this pattern of demand from the American public. According to Boxofficeguru.com, “Bollywood films now routinely cross the $1 million boxoffice mark in the United States.” In fact, the 2001 film Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham had reached No.10 on the U.S. boxoffice charts on its release weekend. As Kabhi Khushi’s marketing chief Vishal Patel questions, “If it is a formula that works for us, then why not cash in on it?”

So the question rests why theater owners do not request the expansion of Bollywood films in localities nationwide so that Americans outside the metropolises may enjoy what Regine Labossiere of The Seattle Times calls “Bollywood’s charms.” The principal reason is simply that Indian films are, evidently, foreign. Therefore, they are neither marketed widely nor given media attention. They belong to an unfamiliar culture; they emanate unfamiliar thoughts. Business Week’s Nandini Lakshman recognizes that “figuring out a way to translate Bollywood for Western audiences isn’t easy.” Nonetheless, this “figuring” can be done and it has been accomplished in past years. For example, East Asian cinema has gained a flourishing mainstream American market since the 2000 release of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and it is not uncommon to find a collection of East Asian movies on DVD at one’s local supermarket. In such a manner, I view this year’s Slumdog Millionaire as a gateway into India’s more authentic, homegrown, family-friendly cinema. As Deepa Mehta, director of the 2002 crossover film Bollywood/Hollywood suggests, “The world is becoming a smaller place.” And in the smaller confines of today’s globalized world, the passions of billions of global Bollywood-watchers can no longer be ignored.

But what guarantee is there that Bollywood films have a future on the United States boxoffice charts? Why shouldn’t American theater owners and distributors ignore the world’s largest film industry? To answer these questions, Andrew Hassam of the Australian literary magazine Meanjin cites a report by Hedge Funds Review acknowledging that “overseas [European and North American] territories are big money earners for [Indian] producers and distributors and so many films are now made with an international audience in mind.” Having been born and brought up in the United States, I certainly can verify the transnational appeal of Bollywood films. Furthermore, I have shared my personal collection of Indian films with friends of all backgrounds: young and old, black and white, conservative and liberal. This “globalization of Bollywood,” as Hassam states it, is “a way in which the exotic is absorbed into the mainstream.”Throughout my own experience, I testify that most viewers find something intoxicating within an Indian film whether it be the romance, action, family values, or especially music.

Undoubtedly, any astute discussion of the Indian film industry ignoring music would be blasphemous. And Seattle’s Labossiere deems the “power of music to involve viewers” one of “Bollywood’s charms.” As Hollywood is also aware, musicals have become big business within the past few years. From Disney’s High School Musical phenomenon to successful projects such as Rent and Mamma Mia!, musicals have gained strong followings transcending socioeconomic status, cultural, and age. Now imagine an entire industry catering to an existing market where more than 95% of films feature “colorful costumes, rhythmic music…and stories that celebrate family ties and true romance.”

Furthermore, William Jasper of The New American uncovers a surprising truth: “producing wholesome films is not only morally sound but financially rewarding.” Among film circles, the Indian film industry is infamous for its overtly repressed sexuality. This image has changed; this stereotype is no longer valid. Yet, as a UPI news wire report suggests, “most Bollywood on-screen kisses…are sanitized pecks on the lips.” Consequentially, Roshan Gill, owner of a Bollywood video store, comments that “all cultures can understand the movies because…there are always family values.” In an age when “the more explicit the sex and nudity are in a movie, the worse it does at the box office” – a selection of films in which “morality and tradition are recurring themes” could prove quite profitable to all parties.

On March 24, 2002, the Indian film industry made its first major step into modern America’s sphere of influence with the Oscar nomination of Ashutosh Gowarikar’s Lagaan for Best Foreign Language Film. Then, more recently, on February 22, 2009, A.R. Rahman became the first Indian national to win an Academy Award for his pulsating soundtrack for Slumdog Millionaire. As these two incidents infer, Indian films require the attention they deserve. Moreover, further exposure of Indian films to the American public is profitable – financially and morally. Interestingly, major Hollywood production houses have begun to invest themselves in India; Sony and Warner Brothers have produced Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Saawariya and Nikhil Advani’s Chandni Chowk to China, respectively. With American executives taking note of the potential profits within Bollywood, the future for Indian film at local cinemas is bright.

Last winter, I attended a single screening of the newly released Indian film Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi starring India’s superstar, Shah Rukh Khan, popularly dubbed “King Khan.” Amidst the blizzard conditions of suburban West Michigan, around one hundred fans had congregated in the theater for this rare opportunity to watch Bollywood on the big screen – only miles from their houses. Waiting intently for the show to start, I could hear at least a dozen languages being spoken around me: English, Hindi, Telugu, Tamil, Urdu, Arabic, and Vietnamese. The audience was global. They were families. They were laughing. They were crying. They were humming along to the music. They were speaking the fourth universal language – and they embraced it.

Boxoffice Magazine finds itself in an integral position to advance the awareness of Hollywood’s Indian counterpart: your publication extends its influence from filmmakers to film financiers, from movie theaters to moviegoers. I thank you sincerely for taking the time to reflect along with me on the niche for Indian films in the United States. To once again reference the words of Frank Capra, “Don’t follow trends, Start them!”

Respectfully Yours,

Nikhil Nandigam