What Harris doesn’t quite say is that her mother, being human, is fallible. Instead, she sticks with the fantasy Ma – an unfailing, temperate presence who compensates for other lacking, including an absent or distant father...
Known Turf
This is my turf. Whatever little I know and want to say
Sunday, September 22, 2024
MA as fantasy
What Harris doesn’t quite say is that her mother, being human, is fallible. Instead, she sticks with the fantasy Ma – an unfailing, temperate presence who compensates for other lacking, including an absent or distant father...
Tuesday, September 17, 2024
Of love as fodder for fiction and a self-concious formal experiment
Abdus-Salam is not necessarily a likeable or an admirable character, and the unnamed narrator does not tell us why he (or she) cares about him or his legacy. In many respects, Abdus-Salam is a fairly ordinary man. He chews a spiced-up tobacco mix and teaches at a suburban school while harbouring creative ambitions. While he has complex and conflicting thoughts about religion, in this, too, he is not very different from most people. He veers between opting in occasionally (going to the mosque once in a while, if only out of long-standing habit), to claiming that “God is everyone’s shield”, to doubting god privately even as he fears divine retribution in moments of crisis, such as illness. His amorous adventures, however, do make him an exceptional protagonist, if only because of how long the list of his paramours is, and how he uses them as fodder for fiction.
Monday, September 02, 2024
Against the Death of Dream (in Wasafiri, 40th anniversary issue, Autumn 2024)
I've written my first essay for the lastest issue of Wasafiri, themed Futurisms. Here's a very short extract from my essay, Against the Death of Dream:
One of the most dangerous things, Pash warned, is the clock that moves on your wrist but not in your eyes. For years I wondered at this image of a stopped clock in the reader’s eye, and the way the poet juxtaposes frozen time against water frozen inside eyes. (Sabse khatarnaak vo aankh hoti hai/jo sab dekhti hui bhi jami barf hoti hai). If to dream is to have a vision for the future, then the death of dream is to accept that the present moment is all of time, and that we must lose all hope for a safer, more loving, more leisurely time. Read in this light, I would argue that the danger is not restricted only to the loss of hopeful dreams; it is just as dangerous to lose our nightmares.
In Radical Hope, philosopher-psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear writes that anxiety can be a realistic response to the world, which suggests that anxiety-induced dreams serve to alert us to individual and collective threats. If we know how to ‘read’ our nightmares, we may find that they serve as timely warnings. In my own experience, I find nightmares to be a useful aid in reconnecting with my instinctive ‘self’. Last year, I had woken up from a miserable dream...
Please read the rest of the essay in the lastest issue of Wasafiri (119, 40th anniversary issue, Autumn 2024).
Monday, August 26, 2024
Ye na samjho matwalo
One of Ali Jawad Zaidi's Urdu ghazals, likely written soon after India won independence:
Ye na samjho matwalo! Kaun ab sataayega?
Haar maan li dukh ne, sukh to aazmaayega
Bekasi ke mele mein jo bhi gaahak aayega
Jholoyaa.n to bhar lega, khud bhi lut ke jayega
Dhoop mein naha legi jab asaadh ki dharti
Zarre-zarre mein saawan phir se kunmunaayega
Har guzarte lamhe par muhar lag chuki lekin
Laakh bhool jayega, phir bhi yaad aayega
Humne kitne afsaane likh ke chaak chaak kar daale
Waqt apna afsaana, hum ko kya sunaayega!
Baar-baar mud-mud kar yoon na dekh, deewane
Kaun raah dekhega, kaun phir bulaayega
Aankh kyun ladaate ho, dopahar ke sooraj se
Shaam ke dhundhalke mein, khud ye milne aayega
Za'm khud-parasti mein aaj ka naya insaa.n
Zindagi ki mayyat se butkada sajaayega
Fard-fard tanha hai, kul samaaj tanha hai
Main jo chup rahoon Zaidi, kaun gungunaayega?
[From the collection, Nazeem-e-dasht-e-Arzoo]
Sunday, August 04, 2024
طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے۔
I've tried my hand at translating a poem from English into Urdu. The poem is 'I find Faiz Blowing on his Saucer of Tea' by Imtiaz Dharkar. You'll find the same text in Nagri letters and Naskh.
طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے۔
طشتری میں چائے کو پھونک مارتے ہوئے مجھے فیض مل گئے
Monday, May 27, 2024
'Mohabbat karti aurat'
I took the liberty of doing an Urdu translation of Manglesh Dabral's Hindi poem 'Prem karti stree'. It didn't take much translation to be honest. The basic grammer and syntax is the same in Hindi/Urdu and Dabral's poetic idiom is rooted in the sort of everyday Hindi that is quite similar to everyday Urdu. This poem in particular had very few words that needed translation. I have only changed a few words, substituting everyday Urdu words that are also common to Hindi.
محبت کرتی عورت دیکھتی ہے
ایک خواب روز
جاگنے پر سوچتی ہے کیا تھا وہ
نکالنے بیٹھتی ہے معنی
دکھتی ہیں اسکو عام فہم چیزیں
کوئی ریتیلی جگہ
لگاتار بہتا نل
اسکا گھر بکھرا ہوا
دیکھتی ہے کچھ ہے جو نظر نہیں آتا
کئی بار دیکھنے کے بعد
محبت کرتی عورت
یقین نہیں کرتی کسی کا
کنگھا گرا دیتی ہے
آئنے میں نہیں دیکھتی خود کو
سوچتی ہے میں ایسے ہی ہوں ٹھیک
اس کی سہیلیاں ایک ایک کر
اسے چھوڑ کر چلی جاتی ہیں
دھوپ اسکے پاس آیے بنا نکل جاتی ہے
ہوا اسکے بال پریشان کیے بنا بہتی ہے
اسکے کھاتے بنا ہو جاتا ہے کھانا ختم
محبت کرتی عورت
ٹھگی جاتی ہے روز
اسکو پتا نہیں چلتا باہر کیا ہو رہا ہے
کون ٹھگ رہا ہے کون ہے بدکار
پتا نہیں چلتا کہاں سے شروع ہوئی کہانی
دنیا کو سمجھتی ہے وہ
گود میں بیٹھا ہوا بچہ
نکل جاتی ہے اکیلی سڑک پر
دیکھتی ہے کتنا بڑا پھیلا شہر
سوچتی ہے میں رہ لون گی یہیں کہیں
- منگلیش ڈبرال
In Roman font:
Mohabbat karti aurat dekhti hai
ek khwaab roz
Jaagne par sochti hai kya tha vo?
Nikaalne baith'ti hai maa'ni
Dikhti hain use aam-fahm cheezain
Koi reyteeli jagah
Lagataar behta nal
Uska ghar bikhra hua
Dekhti hai kuch hai jo nazar nahin aata
kayi baar dekhne ke baad
Mohabbat karti aurat
yaqeen nahin karti kisi ka
Kangha gira deti hai
Aaine mein nahin dekhti khud ko
Sochti hai main aise hi hoon theek
Uski saheliyaan ek-ek kar
usey chhod kar chali jaati hain
Dhoop uske paas aaye bina nikal jaati hai
Hava uske baal bikhraaye bina behti hai
Uske khaaye bina ho jaata hai khana khatm
Mohabbat karti aurat
tthagi jaati hai roz
Usko pata nahin chalta baahar kya ho raha hai
kaun thag raha hai kaun hai badkaar
Pata nahin chalta kahaan se shuru hui kahaani
Duniya ko samajhti hai vo
go'd mein baitha hua bachcha
Nikal jaati hai akeli sadak par
Dekhti hai kitna bada phaila shehr
Sochti hai main reh loongi yahin kahin.
- Manglesh Dabral
(Urdu rendition of his Hindi poem 'Prem Karti Stree'. The original can be found here: https://www.hindwi.org/kavita/prem-karti-istri-manglesh-dabral-kavita)
Friday, May 24, 2024
An Ordinary Woman and Twelve Ordinary Men
The film takes its structure from the iconic Twelve Angry Men (1954), a teleplay that has inspired multiple films since, including the Hindi film Ek Ruka Hua Faisla (1986). A bunch of men weigh in on what appears at first to be a matter of outright criminality, and must decide the fate of the accused.
However, what makes the creative twist in Aattam particularly successful is that it has freed the “judgement” from legal institutional frameworks and moved it into a creative workplace. The “case” in question is sexual harassment. Anjali (Zarin Shihab), the lone female member of a small drama company, has been molested and the other members must decide whether or not her alleged abuser should continue working with them.
Wednesday, February 07, 2024
Look out for 'Two Way Street'
Very pleased to hear that 'Two Way Street,' a short film I wrote has been named by Platform magazine as one of the shorts to look out for in 2024. Do look out for it at festivals, screenings or wherever it might be available to watch.
Here's what they say about the film:
As a versatile artist encompassing roles as a screenwriter, filmmaker, actor, and stage lighting designer, Asmit has made a significant mark in the film industry. His films have been featured at prestigious festivals such as MAMI, IFFLA, IDSFFK, SASFF, and many others. His recent short film, Two Way Street, garnered acclaim by winning the V Shantaram Golden Award for Direction at the South Asian Short Film Fest. Following its success as a winner at the Best of India Short Film Festival, the film qualified for the Academy Awards 2024. In this compelling narrative, an ordinary taxi ride transforms into a battleground when the Taxi Driver refuses to enter a particular lane. The passenger, in response, decides not to disembark until reaching his destination. The story unfolds as a poignant projection of the taxi driver's inherent bias against a specific community and the passenger's determination not to become a victim of discrimination.
Here's a link to the article: https://www.platform-mag.com/film/short-films-to-watch-in-2024.html
Wednesday, January 31, 2024
Three new poems in Usawa
Three new poems in Usawa Literary Review's tenth edition (Jan 2024) . One of them, below.
There was a country we could have
been
There was a country we could have
been
together – utterly shapeless
and well past reform
A laughing country with as many
sides
as a well-cut diamond – tumbling
valleys
of rusty lakes, rivers above,
seas to the right and left
The world would look and lust
for this land glistening emerald
and sapphire
sitting in the sun rocking
on its heels with night's cool
laughter –
How they'd hate us and how they'd
long
for our warmth, our knowing, our
winking
and getting by
If the mist came down real thick
some morning with the blinding
rain
with the mountains plush and
forest thick
and the bears standing guard
while everyone was busy fighting –
could we be our country yet?
*
Link to three of my poems in Usawa: https://www.usawa.in/issue-10/poetry-10/there-was-a-country-we-could-have-been-and-other-poems-by-annie-zaidi/
Thursday, January 25, 2024
Review: Stories about being Muslim in contemporary India
Wednesday, January 24, 2024
Eaten by a look
Friday, November 03, 2023
A brief meditation on selfies and resilience
I bit down on my disapproval though, and read scholarly commentary on the sociocultural implications of relentless self-portraiture: what does it say about our generation? What does it say about societies where women are unsafe when they become visible, or where self-fashioning comes with a side of grievous harm? Perhaps selfies were good for something after all, if they could help us understand ourselves?
I cringe now to think of that former self—so blinkered, she didn’t even know how to look at herself squarely in the eye. How, then, did I get to a point where I have a folder full of goofy selfies and where my own self-portraiture is unapologetic?
The answer lies buried in an analogue photo album.
Monday, October 02, 2023
A first attempt at translating prose
I do not claim to know the body of her work, and I am but a fledgling translator. However, I chanced upon ‘Dain’ in the course of my current research on representations of witch bodies in South Asian literature. Since it wasn’t yet available in English translation, I decided to undertake the task myself.
Shakeela Akhtar was born into a zamindar family in Ardal, near the river Son in Bihar. The river features prominently in this short story and the author was evidently well-acquainted with the vicissitudes in the lives of fishing communities in the region. While I have not read Akhtar’s own memoir, I have read Balmiki Ram’s Shakeela Akhtar Bahaisiyat Fiction-nigaar (Kitabi Duniya, Dehli, 2014). Ram was a Junior Research Fellow at Patna University when he wrote this analysis of Akhtar’s fiction, and it includes basic biographic details about the author.
Akhtar’s date of birth is uncertain. Ram’s book suggests that different scholars have mentioned the years 1912, 1914, 1919 and 1921 while 1916 has been mentioned on the website Rekhta.org. Her first story ‘Rehmat’ was published in 1939 in the journal Adab Latif, Lahore. Elsewhere, Ram mentions that her first story ‘Mothers’ was published in Adab Latif. There are disputes too over the claim that her first collection was first published by Maktaba Urdu, Lahore, when she was just eighteen. However, it is known that she was married to Dr Akhtar Urainvi in 1933 and that her literary life began soon thereafter. According to Ram, her first published book was Darpan (likely published in 1940), the second was Aankh Micholi (1948), third collection was Dain aur Doosre Afsane (1952); fourth was Aag aur Paththar (1962); the fifth book was a set of three novelettes, published as Tinke ka Sahara (1975) and the sixth was Lahu ke Mol (1978) for which she received an Urdu Akademi award. Her last book was Aakhri Salaam (1982). Shakeela Akhtar died on 10th February, 1994.
Read 'dain' in English translation here: https://www.outofprintmagazine.co.in/shakeela-akhtar_dain.html
The original text had very erratic punctuation with quotation marks often missing or placed incorrectly. I have added these where required, but have stuck to the original tenses and first/third person speech as in the original.
I must profusely thank Musharraf Farooqi who was instrumental not only in my learning to read and write the Urdu script but who has also offered valuable feedback on this, my first attempt at translating Urdu prose. I must also thank Prof Abdur Rehman for helping with a sentence in Bhojpuri or Magahi that I was struggling with.
Tuesday, August 29, 2023
Some sad news
Terrible news. Desraj Kali is gone. Other people have written detailed obits, and friends like Shekhar have written personal accounts that show the sort of man he was, the instant acceptance, warmth and affection he offered even to strangers. I feel a bit numb and don't know where to begin.
I have written about Kali (he referred to himself as Kali, and so I did too) in Bantering with Bandits and Other True Tales. He was one of the doorways through which I encountered Punjab outside of the loud, Bollywood stereotype. And yet, paradoxically, he also inhabited and enlivened that stereotype. He was warm and generous and welcoming. When I first met him, it was through Ajay Bharadwaj whose film Kitte Mil Ve Mahi I had watched. I wanted to do a deeper dive into Sufism and the dera culture in Punjab and Ajay said there was no better guide than Kali. His family had attached itself to a dera but who himself was a writer and journalist and therefore understood the political and caste context in which faith is enacted.
Kali introduced me to other professors and writers and traveled with me to many deras. He also insisted that I come home and introduced me to his own family, referring to his wife as 'your Bhabhi'. We met again, in Chandigarh a few times, while I was curating the Chandigarh Literature Festival. His Punjabi novel Shanti Parav had not yet been translated into English and I pestered him to get it published in the Hindi script at least, so I could read it. Eventually it was translated and published in English and he called me to say, "There! Now you've no excuse not to read it!"
In recent years, he set up his own YouTube channel, BarqtanWebTv, where he discussed politics and culture in Punjabi. He also made appearances at various festivals and at online talks such as this one about the history of Jalandhar, where his personality and warmth are evident.
I know one is supposed to say things like 'Go Well' and 'Rest in Peace' but I feel like saying, 'Don't go yet, Kali' even though he's already gone. Whenever he called, he asked me to come visit again, to eat the food 'your bhabhi' would cook. I always said that the taste of her cooking was still fresh on my tongue. He was unabashed in his expression of affection and sometimes when he called, he would admit that he was drunk and that he was ringing up all the people he loved. I kept saying I would visit next year, but there was always work and deadlines and new projects. I can't say how much I will miss someone like Desraj Kali. There are few people like him and the loss of his voice and his large heart will be felt by many.
Tuesday, August 08, 2023
Book alert!
Bantering with Bandits and Other True Tales (Aleph 2023) is just out. This is a new edition of Known Turf (2010), with a fresh Introduction chapter and a lot of footnotes that update the book's information with newer data, which lend it fresh context.
This book of essays was nominated for the Crossword book prize in the non-fiction category when it first came out, and had a bunch of mostly good reviews when it first came out. It attempts to tell the story of our country in our times, with brief dips and detours into banditry, caste crimes, gender violence, displacement, hunger and malnourishment, faith and identity. All of these are, as I have learnt over the years, interlinked processes. I urge you to buy and read the book.
Review links from 2010:
"Annie Zaidi’s collection of essays, Known Turf, is arresting and unforgettable; about realities we prefer didn’t exist. Starvation deaths, female infanticide and communal intolerance step out of the anonymity of statistics to become people like us. They remind us of our defence mechanisms in the face of horror and sorrow; our efforts to stay sane and functional" - Karthika Nair in Tehelka
"Known Turf is a wonderfully engaging example of a puzzling trend in contemporary Indian writing in English. Despite the hype surrounding the novels-with-large-advances, the best writing today is happening in non-fiction." Alok Rai in Outlook
"Tragic and tender and brutal and funny." Known Turf covers a lot of turf.
"At its best, the book combines a reporter’s on-the-spot perception and a writer’s reflection and language to etch interesting, nuanced portraits of that half-mythical being in the throes of constant change: contemporary India. Known Turf is definitely worth reading, and not just for the sake of Gabbar Singh." Tabish Khair in Mint
"...anyone who has braved the railways without a confirmed reservation will get cathartic pleasure reading Zaidi’s graphic account of sitting on the corner of a seat, at a 45 degrees angle, with an RAC (Reservation against cancellation) ticket in a train to Lucknow" Alpana Chowdhury in DNA
"A book like this, written by someone who may once have been just as sheltered as they were, will resonate with Generation iPad in a way that a more world-weary account would bypass entirely." Manjula Padmanabhan in Outlook Traveller
"It’s a rare look into the lives of dacoits minus caricature. Zaidi’s writing attempts to evoke an understanding of their reality." The Reporter and her Beat in Civil Society
"Among all the issues that Zaidi touches on, I find molestation to be the most moving. Though she puts in a lot of information on the other subjects she chooses, the whole force of her personality comes into play only when she starts speaking of molestation and eve teasing." From here
More reviews here, here, here, here, here, and here.
Saturday, August 05, 2023
Kaise unhein dikhayein jo parvaane jal gaye - Ali Jawad Zaidi
Here is a transcription of one of my grandfather's ghazals, for those who are interested in poetry but can't read the script. I thought I'd make a valiant effort to translate the poem into English but after staring at the first couplet for fifteen minutes, I gave up. Here's the poem in Roman script anyway:
Ghazal: page 222 (Naseem-e-dasht-e-aarzu)
Kaise unhein dikhayein jo parvaane jal gaye
Shole hazaar phool ke saanche mein dhal gaye
Badla nahin hunooz yahi ik maqaam-e-shauq
Kitne nizaam chashm-e-zadan mein badal gaye
Kya keh diya naseem-e-bahaari ne kaan mein
Sahra navard sair-e-chaman ko nikal gaye
Yaad-e-vafa-e-yaar teri umr ho daraaz
Do chaar saa'aton ke liye dil behel gaye
Saaqi ki chashm-e-mast ka jaadu yahi to hai
Jo log ladkhadaane lage thhe, sambhal gaye
Thhe jin pe tana baar tunak zarf-e-tez rau
Ta aastaan-e-shauq vahi paa-e-shal gaye*
Izhaar-e-jurm-e-ishq khilaaf-e-mizaaj thha
Daar-o-rasan ke zikr pe lekin machal gaye
Ae dil yahi hai barhana paayi ka marhala
Is khaar-zaar mein to kayi sar ke bal gaye
Zaidi ne raat apni kahaani jo chhed di
Jo dil thhe na-shanaas-e-mohabbat dahal gaye.
- Ali jawad Zaidi
Many thanks to Saif Mahmood for clarifying some words that I couldn't decipher in nastaliq (Gah! when will I learn?) and for explaining the meaning of one of the more tricky couplets (sharing the meaning below since it may be a bit difficult even for Urdu speakers).
*Thhe jin pe tana baar tunak zarf-e-tez rau
Ta aastaan-e-shauq vahi paa-e-shal gaye
Translation:
They, who were taunted by fast-walking boors
Kept moving towards their goal on wounded feet
Saturday, July 22, 2023
Some rollicking late summer fun
I reviewed a new production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which is still as much fun as it was four hundred years ago. It speaks to the power and longevity of a good script.
Link to the review: https://readdurhamenglish.wordpress.com/2023/07/22/rollicking-review-of-a-midsummer-nights-dream-by-elysium-theatre-company/
Sunday, June 18, 2023
Not quite a review: Ma is Scared and Other Stories
What is a Dalit perspective in literature? How does it differ from the phrase 'Dalit literature'? These were some of the questions I have been musing upon since reading Anjali Kajal's Ma is Scared, and other stories, translated by Kavita Bhanot.
This book is unusual for three reasons. Firstly, it is not just a translation but also an original compilation. Kajal has been writing and publishing in various Hindi literary journals for several years, but her stories have not been collected into a book in Hindi. The translated book is therefore also the only book, and it has been published in the U.K. rather than in India. It is also unusual in that it does not offer readers any formal or thematic stereotypes that might inform their reading of these stories. Thirdly, it is unusual in its quiet exploration of feminine experience, foregrounding their thoughts and their relationships with each other rather than the drama of what has gone, or could go, wrong.
Kajal's stories often highlight the intersectionality of exploitative processes such as caste and patriarchy. They are told mainly from a female character's perspective and serve as sensitive portraits of reflections on caste, disability, love and careers. In 'To Be Recognised,' a teacher is forced to 'sign for the full salary' even though she gets paid only a fraction of the salary due to her. In 'Pathways', a bright student refuses to take help from a sympathetic upper caste woman, who nevertheless can't help saying: "What would Sanjay have done with himself as a software engineer?... The system in our society was created for a reason." As Bhanot points out in her translator's note, a lot of Savarna hostility is directed towards 'reservations' or affirmative action in education or jobs. Kajal weaves this enduring hostility into many of her stories, including one set in the lockdown/pandemic when many students from marginalized backgrounds were forced out of learning altogether because of lack of equipment and wi-fi networks.
Resentment and exploitation play out in a very different way in 'Suffocation', where an older woman has to learn how to live with her husband after a lifetime spent apart because of his job. Women's social isolation and their unstated fears feed into 'The Newspaper' where a mother begins to develop a phobia of the world outside after reading negative reports everyday. These are stories that do not leave you easy, but they also tend to surprise you with their refusal to go too far down the dark road.
The book is not published in India yet but I do hope that it will be, and soon.
Sunday, May 21, 2023
Sad Stories You are Old Enough to Hear
Eight years ago, I had my first essay accepted in the Griffith Review. 'Embodying Venus' was a meditation on women's bodies and (un)covering and the politics around it. There were a few more pieces in the journal since: 'Golden Girls' about the rise of young female wrestlers in India, 'Dangerous Little Things' about the significance of student politics, and a short story about ideological wars on Twitter, 'Cows Come Home'.
This year, again, I have a piece in their newest edition, Creation Stories. It is written in the form of a letter to a beloved young person who is growing up in fraught times: Sad Stories You are Old Enough to Hear
Dear A,
The other day, I told you to stay out of it when two adults were talking about something serious. I saw your face, startled perhaps that this should come from me. I regretted it at once, partly because you are not a child. You are what we call ‘young adult’ in the world of literary endeavour and a young adult must be allowed into adult conversations. I know that my concerns may not be yours and perhaps even your sense of identity is not the same as mine. Perhaps you will be content to define yourself through pronouns or talent and no other struggle will be necessary. Still, we share blood, history and a love of stories, and I want to tell you some true stories today. Destabilising stories that offer neither resolution nor catharsis. Stories that go on, like an underground railroad loop inside your head. Stories that may explain the prickly, fragmented being you sometimes catch a glimpse of, before I clumsily gather myself. You will not remember it, but there’s a fragment of me permanently embedded on a railway platform in Mumbai...
The whole piece is behind a paywall but do read it here: https://www.griffithreview.com/articles/sad-stories-you-are-old-enough-to-hear/?fbclid=IwAR2xV0B2_KcjkLdCvNQH2TT9yRNNS697-_Slrq2GwCd43R5RKtlTFlC64hI
Saturday, April 15, 2023
A review of Moyukh Chatterjee’s Composing Violence: The Limits of Exposure and the Making of Minorities
If a government is driven by the need to secure majority mandates, what incentives does it have to secure minority rights? In fact, if all institutions are ultimately answerable to majoritarian sentiments, if the creation of an unyielding majority is a constant political necessity, it stands to reason that the re-creation of minorities is also essential. Moyukh Chatterjee’s Composing Violence: The Limits of Exposure and the Making of Minorities addresses this question in direct and rather unsettling ways...
He argues that violence against minorities is not an exceptional event in the Global South, that it is essentially political violence – garbed as religious or ethnic violence – used to construct more or less permanent majorities and minorities. While this book focuses on India, it reminds us that modern Western states like the US and Canada were built on ‘the expulsion and subjugation of Indigenous and Black people’ and that contemporary violence against such racial minorities is ‘not a deviation from modernity but an integral aspect of the making of the modern nation-state itself.’ There is something foundational about antiminority violence and as postcolonial countries have developed into modern democracies, their respective pogroms and ethnic ‘conflicts’ have served to establish dominant racial or religious majorities as stable political majorities.
Posing the question – ‘What can India tell us about the power of public violence against minorities to act as a catalyst for the creation of a permanent majority?’ – the author attempts to answer it through this book. His title – composing violence – is an attempt to understand ‘how violence persists, motivates, and animates social and political life beyond the scene of horror,’ and to move away from the idea that violence is ‘a breakdown, interruption, and exception,’ to instead describe it as ‘a constitutive force.’ This transformational quality of violence serves as a catalyst for turning Muslims in India into permanent minorities and ‘outsiders’.
Read the full review here: https://thewire.in/books/book-review-majoritiarian-violence-moyak-chatterjee