A random visit to Calcutta Madrasah

First Day Like a stranger, I ask for direction to the Calcutta Madrasah at the Rafi Ahmed Kidwai Road that is in a densely-Muslim populated locality, Taltala, in Kolkata. This locality also houses Maulana Azad College, another prominent institution of the city. However, the locals, especially working and poor, seem unable to fathom my queries. As I begin to lose my temper, they laugh. Suddenly, I realise that I am from UP, speak West UP Hindustani language, and locals understand or love to communicate only in Bengali, their beloved bhasha. As I stare at a laughing group of these Bengalis, someone staring at us from a distance comes towards us and tries to understand my question. He says, “Here, few people will understand the Calcutta Madrasah. They call it Aliah Madrasah and it’s nearby.” He then takes me to the gate of the madrasah. I thank him. He responds something sweetly in Bengali and goes away. I stop at the gate and first click the picture of the madrasah. It’s clearly written in English: Calcutta Madrasah College, Established in 1780. While clicking the picture, I see students riding on bikes, chatting on cellphones and looking at me curiously. I feel convinced that it is a modern madrasah (students chatting on cellphones, riding bikes usually is not a picture of a traditional Indian madrasah). I also see the board of the Aliah University’s board saying that it now serves as the Department of Islamic Theology of the varsity. After this I need no proof to confirm that it’s a modern madrasah. Not only madrasah, but a college. (Later at a coffee joint conversation in Kolkata, Dr Abdus Sattar, former Minister of State for Minorities Development, Welfare and Madrasahh Education in the Left Front government told me that Aliah University is the second Indian University after Aligarh Muslim University that has started a Department of Theology. Dr Saheb is also known as the Architect of Madrasah Modernisation in Bengal. A separate story or interview with Dr Saheb later). The guard (a guard at the gate is again not a sign of modern madrasah) stands up to stop me, but I politely ask him to let me in. He obliges. I step in. A couple sitting next to the gate is busy sifting through some academic notes. The lady is in a colourful burqa and the man bears an Aligarhi Sherwani and a solemn look on his face. The man is blackish with black beard. He also has a black bag and a water bottle. The lady is ravishingly radiant (Later, a close look at her face reveals that she wears heavy make-up. Another sign of modernisation!) They both look at me. The man lowers his gaze and the lady chuckles at me. However, she gestures to welcome me. But, she first looks at three bearded, maulvi-type people sitting at a nearby bench. She demurs. I turn my gaze at these maulvis. They look at me with dismay, disdain, disapproval, and wonderment when they hear me speaking English. But, they say nothing. I say salaam and introduce myself to the couple, particularly the man. They both respond with salaam. The man even turns attentive towards me. I say, “I am a journalist and have come from Delhi.” He doesn’t understand. I repeat, “I am a journalist and have come from Delhi to write on modernisation of madrasahs.” He gives more confusing looks. But, the lady understands and translates this to him. He says something. Now, I give him foolish looks as he speaks in such a chaste Bengali accent that it is beyond my comprehension. Meanwhile, neither these two nor three maulvis on the other bench ask me to sit. I myself ask their permission to sit with them. They welcome me and the man makes a place for me. I feel relaxed. I ask them to introduce themselves. The lady takes the lead. She says, “I am Rasheeda Khatoon, a part-time teacher.” The man introduces himself as Meezanur Rehman, also a part-time teacher. Suddenly, the lady gets some signal from maulvis on the other bench. It was perhaps to leave the bench. She doesn’t. I prod Meezan Sb to reveal his educational qualifications. He, in his Bengali accent, which now I suddenly begin to understand, lists degrees that he acquired from all prominent seminaries and universities: “I did my Fazilat in Hadith from Darul Uloom Deoband in 1995. Then, I did Fazilat from Nadwatul Ulama, Lucknow in Arabic in 1998. On advice of elders and well-wishers, I did M.A. in Arabic from Lucknow University in 2001. Afterwards, I was sent to Jamia Al-Azhar University, Egypt, and did B.A. in Islamic Theology (Specialisation in Hadith). My selection was done through Nadwa’s recommendation-cum-selection in 2003. I spent around six and half years there. One Quwaiti society also helped finance my stay there. I joined Aliah College in 2011 as a part-time teacher. In 2015, I enrolled myself in M.A. (Sunni Theology) in AMU as a private student and completed that in 2015…” He then takes a pause. I think he is done with his ‘revelation’, and says, “I believe this is your last degree?” The lady laughs heartily and asks him to ‘reveal’ more. Meanwhile, I also ask him that despite such a long academic journey, why was his English so weak? He says nothing and only lowers his gaze. (Knowledge of English is touted as one of the key indicators of madrasa modernisation). However, he proceeds to answer my earlier question: “I have enrolled myself as a research scholar at Aliah Univeristy. My PhD topic is Dr Yusuf Al-Qaradawi and His Contribution to the Contemporary Jurisprudence.” (*Dr Yusuf Al-Qaradawi is an Egyptian Islamic scholar based in Doha. He is intellectual brain of the Muslim Brotherhood, the party that came to power electorally in post-Arab Spring Egypt and was later ousted in an Army Coup.) One point deserves attention here that both the madrasah students and teachers desperately pursue academic avenues, ‘more than required’, to better their career prospects, but it is mostly few maulvis who enjoy the top status --- as patron or all-in-all of these seminaries. This status comes largely through connection to madrasah-controlling families or organisations like Jamiat Ulema e Hind. (One thing also became clear while talking to Meezanur Rehman that most of the researches done in Aliah Madrasah and almost all the madrasahs in India and the world revolve around personalities. While I was talking to Meezan, one of his colleagues passed by and chipped in: “This is because it’s easy to encompass all Theological issues while discussing lives of personalities.”) Meezan says there are 18 research scholars in Aliah Madrasah and he doesn’t say this, but perhaps most of them pass through ‘this easy route’. (Later, I ask the head of the department, Dr Imdad Hussain Qasimi, to verify this and show me copies of the submitted researches done so far. He politely says that the department doesn’t keep such records and that I must visit the University library for the purpose). I ask Meezan how much the madrasah pays him? “It’s Rs 250 per 45-minute class and there are two classes a day,” he says, adding that he gets around Rs 14,000 in hand. Is it enough to run his family? “No, it’s not. I have some land in my village in South 24 Parganas district and family agriculture supports my expenses. I also keep my family there and live on rent in Calcutta,” he says. As he discusses emoluments of teachers, maulvis on the other bench says something in Bengali and Rasheeda Khatoon stands up. I request her to click pictures of both her and Meezan. She refuses. Now, the maulvis stand up and firmly say something in Bengali. Rasheeda looks at me and Meezan, and smiles. I request that she at least must click pictures of me and Meezan. She obliges gleefully. I got to know later that there are 26 teachers in Aliah Madrasah and only five of them are permanent. The permanent teachers get around Rs 90,000 plus a month. Permanent five are one Nadwi (Nadwatul Ulema alumnus) and five Qasmi (passouts of Darul Uloom Deoband). Rasheeda and maulvis rush to a staff room and one of them says that I must either talk to department head Imdad Hussain or a senior like Mufti Liaqat (he speaks to me the next day. Link of video interview of two Calcutta Madrasah teachers). Rasheeda comes out of the staff room and says something in Bengali to Meezan. He begins to gather his bag, academic papers and water bottle. I ask him whether I can drink a little bit from his bottle. (Suddenly I realized that I was still not even offered water thus far despite saying that I have come from Delhi and am a journalist). He readily extends the bottle towards me. I have three sips (this gesture is considered religious), he notices this and whispers in my ears that the permanent teachers (maulvis) are not in favour of part-time teachers becoming permanent and that recommendations to the effect are stuck somewhere with the university administration. Now, Rasheeda just appears from the staff room, and Meezan runs to join the maulvis. He leaves behind his bottle. I sit for a while drinking water and expecting people to come to talk to me. No one turns up. Some girl students in burqas and some with dupattas curiously come to look at me. I try to strike a conversation with them. I want to enquire ‘which classes do they study or which courses they have opted for?’. Some of them feel shy, some giggle, but all of them leave. Then they walk away to the verandah and stare at me. I sit for a while alone on the bench and re-glances at my notebook to remind me again of the madarasah modernisation signs I have to notice here. Five minutes pass by. Rasheeda comes out of the room and I notice on her face that she is asking me to leave. I do. Day Two My day starts very early, at tahajjud time (before dawn special prayer). The first thing I am reminded of is that I had messaged Sattar Sb and another photographer friend to come to Aliah Madarasah to accompany me so that I have proper influence to interview people there. Only a photographer friend commits. Sattar Sb later apologises as being also an academic, he has other engagements. At around 8, I dial Meezan. It wakes him up from sleep. He however is very polite and friendly. He shares some details I want to know about the madrasah. He says the madarsah will open at 10 and that today was the registration day for the examinations to be held soon. “There will be a bustle of students and a meeting of teachers at around 11 or 12. So, you must hurry up.” I ask him whether he will be around to help me. He commits. I inform photographer friend to hurry up as well and come exactly at 10. He says he is stuck in traffic and will be late. I hurry up to be on time in the madrasah. Today, I am confident that I will be treated well and will get to know all the informations I need from the staff. I enter the gate. The bench where Meezan and Rasheeda sat was missing. The bench where maulvis sat was there as usual. But it was occupied by students who within 10 minutes swelled into hundreds. They were in pant-shirts, kurta payjama, burqa, dupatta --- all in happy variety of hues. I try to intermingle with them. They look at me with suspicion. I dial Meezan. He doesn’t pick up. I again go to students and ask two of them their names and introduce myself. They share their names --- Abdul Farooq Mandal and Imran Sheikh, both pursuing M.A. Islamic Theology. They remind me that all the students are filling forms and that’s why they are in a hurry and not bothering to engage with ‘strangers’. Suddenly, my photographer friend, a Hindu (yes, it is necessary to mention), comes. He says it is his first visit to the Calcutta Madarasah. I am flabbergasted. How come a brilliant photographer like him missed to capture the Oldest Madrasah of India from his lens? Is he a stranger here or me? (Some hint of the reason is mentioned in the interview of two madarsah teachers). However, he converses with students in Bengali and I feel that the stranger is me. He makes students friendly and comfortable and explains the purpose of my visit. Students very respectfully take me to the department head, who comes after a while and is very cooperative. He carefully listens to the purpose of my visit and asks for my visiting card. I obey him. He says he will ask two senior teachers to talk to me and that I should wait. And also that for shooting pics and video, I will have to seek permission. We wait longer than what the department head promised. Meanwhile, many maulvi-looking teachers, including one lady teacher (different from Rasheeda and without burqa) keep visiting the office. One bua serves us tea. We wait a little longer. My friend (whom I called for impression, clicking photographs and making video) says that he has to go to cover an agitation over the brutal killing of a student activist, Anis Khan, a student of Aliah University, the mother institution of the Calcutta Madrasah. I go out and enquire. Student Imran comes to my help, but it is of no avail. I lose my patience. But, it only brings a smile to the faces of maulvi-looking teachers. One Mufti Saheb, who issues fatwas on the official pad of the Jamiat Ulema e Hind and who I was searching for, also makes entry to the office. He doesn’t communicate. I roam in the corridor in anger. The students start feeling fearful. A very gentle and maulvi-looking teacher informs me that he is the son-in-law of the West Bengal minister Siddiqullah Chowdhury, who is also the president of the Jamiat Ulema-e-Hind's West Bengal branch. I note down the details. I ask my photographer friend to click pictures of students and faculty. He does. I thank him, and say that I will manage to shoot the interview on my own. He leaves. Suddenly, the number of students in the corridor thins down. The bustle disappears. I glue to the bench, and keep asking the passing by who is Mufti Saheb and who are the two people I should interview? They merely chuckles. I also begin to feel thirsty. I ask for water. Again, no reply. I calm down myself and dial a RSS-linked Delhi uncle who knows the madarsa scene very well. I tell him that I am sitting inside the Oldest Madarasah of India, that is now a Theology Department of a prominent university and that while I am thirsty, nobody is caring to provide me even a glass of water, let alone proper welcome due to a journalist coming from Delhi. He laughs: “You have surely gone there without anyone’s reference.” I say I am a working English media journalist. He laughs more. “It doesn’t matter. The madarsas operate in their own peculiar channelized way. If you have someone’s reference, then you will be treated like a valuable guest. Or as an untrustworthy stranger.” I ask him where are modern ways in a madrasa then? “They will come slowly,” he says without conviction. He however advises “wait for the prayer time. Pray with them and then introduce yourself. They will surely talk.” I wait for the juhar (noon) prayer. As soon as the azaan is called, many maulvi-looking teachers rush to the wuzukhana (ablution room) and prayer room. I follow them. Someone asks me to first enter a side-by room. One maulvi-looking teacher is having food there and an innocent maulvi-looking teacher is sitting on a stool. I ask the maulvi saheb: “Can I also offer prayer?” He says I should first make wuzu in the wuzukhana. I come back after wuzu. Now, I see someone is praying on a prayer mat and the other two are sitting and having food as usual. I wait, but the praying fellow seems to be taking more time. I ask the eating maulvi saheb and the ‘innocent saheb’ that we must start the conversation and I will pray later. They don’t mind. I shoot the questions. They answer, saying everything that is “considered regressive, archaic, idiotic and thuggery” about madrasahs. During conversation, maulvi saheb (mufti saheb) suspects that I sound like a government spy. I tell him that “I am a spy of Allah and that He is overseeing all three of us.” He feels assured and takes part in the conversation with more confidence. I record my interview with ease. Mufti Saheb asks for my visiting card. I tell him that I gave it to the department head, Dr Imdad Hussain. He looks disappointed. I tell him that he can note down my details. He does and shows me the prayer mat. I offer chaar rakaat of juhar, say salaam to Mufti Saheb and leave for Delhi.

Specs Number

Aligarh Eye Centre, recently renamed Okhla Eye Centre, reminds people living in the Jamia Nagar of their association with Aligarh city, where Aligarh Muslim University, the almamater of many, is situated. It's touching to now a landmark hospital of the area, Al-Shifa Hospital. A month back when my wife was recuperating from post-Covid black fungus infection, I visited this eye clinic with her. We were waiting for our turn. Suddenly, a very old woman — frail and wrinkled — emerged from the doctor's room. She was livid and accusing the doctor of befooling her. Her allegation was that the doctor was not changing her specs number despite the fact that she is unable to see certain things. A young girl, who was accompanying her, was trying to calm her and convince her that she must return to home and come some other day. For a moment, she agreed and then again proceeded to argue with the doctor. This time, everyone remained silent. Then, one of the nurses and the girl grabbed her by her hand and took her to a corner. They offered her a glass of water and convinced her that as she could see the glass and the water in it, it meant her specks were allright. "Okay, okay," the old woman said this much. And then left the clinic with the young girl. Being ultra curious now, I asked the nurse who was the lady and what ails her. She said, "She had one sole son. She had raised him well after the early death of her husband. She used to care for him like a child even after the son was now father to five grown up kids. The girl accompanying her was her youngest granddaughter. Last month, Covid engulfed er son. No one in the family informed her that he was no more and he was sent to graveyard directly from the hospital. She now thinks that she is unable to see her son in the house because the number of her specks has to be changed and visits our clinic almost daily. It takes her around an hour or more to realise her loss and come to terms with grief. But, the next day, the love of the son returns. Poor lady!"

Part-time Job

By Mohammed Anas I lit my fifth cigarette of the day and was just about to sneak out of the house, my son screamed, “Papa, you are again forgetting to give me my school fee. My class teacher says it’s the third consecutive month I haven’t submitted my school fee and that I would be expelled this time.” Hurt, I paused for a moment, pumped and smoked out a deep puff. “Please beta, tell your teacher to be patient for one more month. I am going through a harsh time, which will end soon and you will submit four months' fee next month. I promise,” I pacified my Class 3 child who was indebted Rs 6,000 to the Aligarh Public School in Aligarh, UP. He showed little resentment, more obedience and started getting ready for school. With another cigarette, I resumed my daily morning street walk. Ever since I became unemployed a couple of months back due to Covid-19 pandemic, it was in my daily routine to leave home early in the morning to visit friends so that I could avoid my wife and children making demands for something or the other. At the end of the street, Hashmat runs his cigarette, machis (match box) and gutkha khokha (kiosk). No sooner did I approach his outlet; he shelled out a Gold Flake packet and headed towards me. With Gold Flake between my fingers, I moved towards Basharat’s residence, which had become an adda for my entire ilk — the unemployed, married with children. We discuss how small towns are getting devoid of employment value and traditional occupations are weeding out day after day. How the government policies and the invasion of MNCs and their pre-conditioned requirements of multi-skilled, young and smart-in-every-sense workforce has rendered people like us — dim-skilled, not-so-young and smart-in-few-senses — wandering in smoke and dark. Moreover, the corona pandemic has forced the companies to junk out staff in bulk. We lit more cigarettes and wrestled over whether we could ourselves generate some employment. The more smoke filled the room, the more we discussed and got confused. When cigarettes went out of stock, bidis (hand-rolled cigarettes of leaves) were ready to burn themselves for us like an enforcement battalion on the war front. But who can help the losers? Done up with frustration and hunger, I sought my friend’s leave for home. After borrowing another packet of Gold Flake from Hashmat, I was turning into my street when a bicycle almost rode over me. The rider apologised and quipped, “Hope I haven’t hurt you much, Khalid.” “Oh, it’s you, master saab (teacher). Hope your school is doing fine.” I picked out a cigarette and looked forward to a conversation with master saab who was both a smooth-talker and a compulsive philosopher. “Did you find a job?” he asked. “Can you help me find one?” “Sure” “Alright, tell me.” This time, my eyes lit up too. “Quit smoking” “You were going to suggest a job. You are back to your sermonising business.” “Quit smoking is a job, believe me. It can serve many of your necessities.” “How come?” “How many cigarettes do you smoke everyday?” “Around 30-35” “Ok. And if I am not mistaken, a cigarette like your brand costs a minimum of 10 rupees. It means you smoke away Rs 300-350 daily, which amounts to Rs 9,000-12,000 per month. Doesn’t it seem like a part-time job income that can at least bear the school fees of two of your children?” Master Saab made his point and took his way. I could merely give him a dumb-founded gaze with cigarette in my hand burning untouched. I remained standstill until I heard my son screaming, “Papa, look at my new T-shirt.” Alighting from his school van, my son hurried towards me with a T-shirt, carrying some anti-smoking slogan. “Some of my teacher’s friends came and gave us these T-shirts. They also told us that people who smoke die of cancer.” My son’s face wore a worried innocence. I took his hand and slowly stepped towards my home. I didn’t tell him that I had thrown away the packet of death sticks behind.

Lonely Muslim fight for constitutional rights

Today, two Muslim activists, Dr Kafeel Khan, a paediatrician from Gorakhpur, and Sharjeel Usmani, a student activist from AMU, were granted bails by Allhabad High Court. They both were facing charges of abetting communal disturbance through their speeches and writings in context of anti-Citizenship Amendment Act agitation in the country. In case of Dr Khan, the court reportedly commented that there was no ground to slap draconian National Security Act against him. However, the court didn't rap the UP government that had acted against Dr Khan. Anyway, as the news of bail to these activists came out, there was jubilation in the Muslim social media circles. But, there was no reaction from Hindu friends. It reminded one of very feeble Hindu support for anti-CAA agitation. It seems constitutional fight of Muslims for their rights has become lonely.

Akbar's era, circa July 2005-Oct 2006

As the floodgates of sexual harassment exposes opened about Mr MJ Akbar, currently Minister of State for External Affairs and arguably one of the last of great editors of India, I am reminded of time I spent as someone who worked with Mr Akbar. My first prominent memory of Mr Akbar’s editorship dates to back to 2005 when I joined The Asian Age as an intern, aspiring to be absorbed as a staffer in Features department. I was promised that after 15 days, my worked would be appraised and accordingly my case would be decided. One and half month passed, there was no clue whether I would be issued an offer letter or merely an experience letter. Though my feature editor was extremely encouraging and liked my work immensely, but perhaps she lacked the courage to ask Mr Akbar to sign the offer letter. Then one day, I reported about some Pakistani dancing girls joining mujra houses at Delhi’s GB Road. The story became instant hit. It was followed by many media outlets, including BBC. Mr Akbar despatched an email to all in The Asian Age appreciating my story and how a good story grabs everyone’s attention. I keep printout of this email as a postcard from memory. The same day, I was issued my appointment letter and was given salary for all working days. Then while working further, many a time I reported about issues which dealt with hardcore news category. When these stories were brought to Mr Akbar’s knowledge, he immediately asked seniors on desk to take them in the news pages of the broadsheet. Though, they were never carried by those desk people because of perhaps some biases or reasons only known to them. Then one day, I suddenly resigned owing to personal reasons, without discussing my decision with my feature editor. Both she and Mr Akbar became furious and shot me livid mails, accusing me of being ‘ungrateful.’ I keep this mail as memory too. A memory of a lesson that if you come from small town, lower middle-class families and are employed and encouraged by your seniors, you should not disappoint them. And deprive yourself a job, an income and a working life in a city. Meanwhile, there were lots of rumours, canteen conversations about Mr Akbar taking chances with young girls of Asian Age. One confirmed story was of a beautiful girl from Luknow who had joined at newsdesk. Mr Akbar wrote some lecherously-worded emails. She showed those mails to two of my colleagues. She reportedly wrote back to Mr Akbar with a firm response that the old lech deserved. His advances stopped right that moment. Soon after she left. While leaving, she shocked two us from Aligarh. She revealed she was married. We kept her email for few years, but never mailed her. I had no curiosity to know any further into these stories. As all working in a national newspaper were adults, both girls and boys. They knew how to deal with unwanted advances, and advance their careers. That’s exactly all did, as per their choices.

SIMI rode on religion, when politics was the call

By Mohammed Anas Last week’s alleged fake encounter of eight suspected Student of Islamic Movement of India activists in Bhopal has cast a pall of gloom among Indian Muslims, especially the youths who have made their angst and despair sound as loudly as possible via formal and social media. However, a sound appraisal of the activities of SIMI during its active years and its socio-political implications must assist the community to position its stand vis a vis such religious outfits. Research materials on SIMI available online (including a research paper of a credible think tank like Indian Institute for Defence Studies and Analysis) list it as a militant organisation linked to terror outfits based in Pakistan and Bangladesh. Most of such write-ups quote accounts of security agencies to substantiate such a branding. And almost every article of worth written on SIMI says that not a single charge of treason and terrorism has been proved against the outfit in Indian courts. Moreover, those more aware of the history of the organisation make the distinction between two factions of the outfit since 2000 onwards — one militantly radical, the other moderately radical. Most of the SIMI activists arrested, jailed, acquitted and killed in encounters belong to the former faction. SIMI, as accounts have it, was founded in Aligarh on 25 April 1977 by Ahmadullah Siddiqi and others, mostly students of Aligarh Muslim University and sympathisers or active members of Jamaat e Islami Hind. Nationally, it was a period of social and political uprisings in India. Emergency was just lifted by then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi on 21 March 1977. University campuses were in ferment. Like all social groups, Muslims too were aspiring for their specific political space in non-Congress alternative politics. Many of Jamaat leaders were in fact jailed during Emergency and had started showing genuine interest in electoral democracy of the country, as opposed to their previous inhibition to enter active politics. Against such a political backdrop, SIMI, then only known as Student Islamic Movement, started as a student activity group to foment religious awakening among Muslim students and youths. To make it an organisation of youth and students only, the outfit made it mandatory for its members to voluntarily retire as they turned 30. The outfit organised seminars, lectures on themes related with Islam and happenings in the Muslim world. Strangely, it stayed away from guiding, let alone actively participating, Muslim students in political developments of the day. Nevertheless, its cadre base and area of influence kept on swelling. On the other hand, all socio-political groups like fragments of the Janata Party such as Janata Dal, Bharatiya Janata Party, Bahujan Samaj Party and parties of the Communist leanings made slow strides and some of them are now leading regional and national parties, which frequently hold reign of power in states and in the Centre. Yadavs, Other Backward Castes and Dalits all have their own successful political forms. Only Muslims lagged behind, and as their disillusionment with Congress completed by the end of ’80s, they turned into vote banks of the new emergent non-Congress secular dispensations. SIMI, which was supposed to guide Muslim students in purely Islamic ethos and concerns in the light of guidance from its mother organisation Jamaat e Islami, turned aggressively radical as it sought inspiration from success of Gen Zia ul Haq’s coup in Pakistan and Islamic Revolution of Iran. Later, it even parted ways from Jamaat as it opposed then PLO leader Yasser Arafat’s India visit because of Arafat’s perceived pliant approach towards Israel. While SIMI was aggressively espousing Muslim causes like Palestine, it didn’t find fertile politics of ’80s worthy enough to navigate the community. Rather, as Hindu right wing forces spruced up their campaign around Ayodhya issue, SIMI only saw it as an opportunity to galvanise Muslim youth on emotional appeal. And when finally the Babri Masjid was demolished on 6 December 1992, it became an annual commemorative event for SIMI to whip up Muslim emotions. As SIMI turned overtly emotional and aggressively radical, some of its prominent cadres like its founder Ahmadullah Siddiqi, Dr Rashid Shaz, SQR Illyas, distanced from the organisation. All of them now lead normal active life in different fields. SQR Ilyas, father of JNU’s Umar Khalid, also runs a political party called Welfare Party of India. It was post-1992 period, when SIMI is said to have come under radar of security agencies. Security officials started questioning its cadres. Its libraries and conferences were regularly monitored by sleuths. And when a Quran burning event organised by Vishwa Hindu Parishad led to communal clashes in Kanpur in 2001 and some of SIMI activists were reported to have taken part in it, the outfit was banned. Many of its cadres were arrested. Later, it became a routine that SIMI activists were all across India were picked up on terror charges, which remain to be proved in courts. Now, the organisation exists in dossiers of security agencies as a terror outfit and hits the news when some its cadres are arrested, jailed or killed in encounter. Its activities are not witnessed anywhere. It is also noteworthy that all of the arrested SIMI cadres come from low key social strata. Never a SIMI activist with somewhat well-to-do family background has been arrested. Many of the arrested can’t even afford expenses of their litigation and are aided by some Muslim organisations. SIMI cadres, as has not been proven in Indian courts, are not terrorists but they definitely were extremists and misguide for Indian Muslim youth. They kept them busy in religious radicalism at a time when they had to mobilise politically to claim their share in power to uplift the community on various parameters of empowerment. Luckily, a ray of hope also comes from youth who were once part of this outfit. Muslim Youth for India, an organisation run by former SIMI cadres, is campaigning to guide Muslims on religious moderation and coax them to embark on social and political leadership of India. Let’s hope these young men make news in future.

An Old (2006) Profile of Professor Vijay Prashad

Profile of Professor Vijay Prashad For Vijay Prashad, the assistant professor of International Studies at Trinity College, Connecticut, US, writing is not a profession but a passion. He claims to pen down his first book, a fiction, when he was barely sixteen. Though the book never saw the light of the day. “It was just the home assignment by my father during the summer break. But I admit it propounded a passion in me for writing, for the appreciation I received from my households,” informs Vijay, who was born in Calcutta, brought up in Delhi, did his schooling in Dehradoon before finally settled down in US. The college days in America played a pivotal role in shaping his future life. Reminiscing an event in US he says, “During my college life in US, I started participating in student politics and social activism. I used to actively participate in demonstrations against the anti-black policies of the government. During one of such demonstrations at El-Salvador, the police opened firing on the protest march of the agitating students, who were calling for the resettlement of black refugees. I was also among those students. Many students were killed, but somehow I managed to save my life. This accident cast a deep impact upon me and further substantiated my resolve to fight against the oppressive regimes.’ He adds further, “To garner the public opinion against the system, I started writing anti-government pamphlets and posters and when I joined Trinity College as a lecturer, writing became my second occupation besides teaching. In addition, I began to write regularly for some periodicals and magazines criticizing the imperialistic policies of US administration and racial discrepancies showed by the White against the Black.” It is interesting that he scribed his first published book during also the summer break in India. ‘Untouchable Freedom’ is about the Balmiki community, about its history, sociology. The book investigates the role of Balmikis in the anti-Sikh riots of 84. While his second book ‘The Karma of Brown Folk’ explores the life of Indian settled in US and the cultural diasporas. ‘War Against the Planet’ is the analysis of US war against Afghanistan in general and foreign policies of US government in particular. Being an expert on US foreign affairs, the main focus of Vijay Prashad’s writing remains around US intervention in international politics. His recently published book ‘Namaste Sharon’ throws light on new emerging trilateral friendship between India, Israel and America and its fallout on world affairs. Vijay Prashad has nine books under his belt to this date and his tenth book ‘Darker Nations: Rise and Fall of Thirld World’ is soon to be published. Besides a prolific author, Vijay Prashad is also a regular columnist of some national and international publications. His monthly column ‘Letter from America’ in the magazine ‘Frontline’ is said to be one of the best read columns by any NRI in India. Elaborating on the non-fiction writing, Vijay says, “Though the non-fiction writing has a very limited readership, still the fact that it is attached to the intellectual core of the society is the reason enough for a writer to inflate. Moreover, it is the most influential instrument to bring about the radical change in the society.” While there is quite a fan following behind him, Vijay himself is an ardent fan of Indian writers like Aijaj Ahmed and P. Sainath. “It is the original concern of the writer which I like most in a piece of writing,” says Prashad, who is presently in India working for his organization ‘Forum of Indian Leftists’.