From City of Djinns By William Dalrymple

“Norah was dead, but that month as I explored the area around the residency, I found many other characters who seemed, like her to be bits of flotsam left over from the Delhi of William Fraser.

A little to the south of the residency, the British arsenal was blown up in the mutiny. Beside that, tucked away off the main road, lay the original British cemetery. I had expected the graveyard to be as dirty and neglected as the Residency, but was surprised to find it spotlessly clean. It did not take long to work out why. The graveyard became a rather smart housing estate. The marble grave slabs were kept scrubbed till they shone; the Palladium chamber tombs had been restored and rebuilt. Washing was hung up between obelisks and television aerials were attached to higher crosses. Many of the pavement-wallahs and jhuggi -dwellers in Delhi complain of police protection rackets so I asked one of the men in the graveyard whether they had any trouble.

“Good heavens, no”, he replied in a clipped Anglo-Indian accent. “They can’t harm us.” we ‘re all Christians here.”

“I am sorry”, I said, seeing that I had caused offence.  “It is our churchyard”. continued the man, straightening his tie.  “The Andrew family has been here for three generations. These Hindus don’t like Christian monuments so we are guarding it. You will have tea? Tea was brought and we settled on the grave of a British auditor- general. A plate of Indian sweets and a wedding album was brought out from beneath a slab.  “Since I retired from the railways in 1985 I have turned my hand to a little gardening, continued Mr. Andrews.”  “Now we try to grow most of our own vegetables here. And that was my poultry farm. he pointed at marble cot at my feet the tomb of a colonel Nixon from a county Tyrone. a makeshift wire mesh had been strung from the corners , but the grave was empty of all chickens.

” we’ve eaten all the hens”, he explained, seeing my glance.  “Now I plan to keep my fishes in there.”

Do I believe in ghosts? Djinns? Parries?

I don’t know. Or maybe I do. I haven’t seen one but sometimes I have felt some kind of presence. Occasionally I have experienced a sudden chill in the room even though the fan was off and the A/C was not running, or suddenly the air stirred and I felt hair rising on the back of my neck. I have seen shadows and turned my back or changed the course.

Occasionally I have fled with fright, feeling some one is pulling me from behind. But thats something that many people have experienced at least once in their life. I remember ghost story sessions on cold, rainy winter nights when bundled up in blankets and quilts, we would tell ghost stories and if things became too terrifying, the listeners would shriek and tell the storyteller to stop and every one calling every one a chicken,
would try to calm their thumping hearts. Or in summer, when the heat of the night would make every one restless and edgy, our Nani ma would say, “stop fighting the heat. You yourself make your bodies hot by being restless. Stay still and quiet. I am going to tell you a story about a princess who was always complaining about being hot. It turned out that it was a Djinn who was in love with her and wanted her to come out in the Garden every night where he would meet her in the form of a prince.” It would be a long story. I don’t know if Nani ma ever finished it because her narration of the palace events would relax the nerves, cool the bodies and soon every one would be fast asleep.

Nani ma’s djinns and Parries (Fairies) were noble and lovable creatures. There was no reason to be scared of them. It was some other relative who would come visiting for a week or two, bringing stories with them. During those times we used to have really scary or sometimes awe inspiring sessions. It was all so entertaining. There was no TV, no Internet and no PC. People had time to relax with the family and to enjoy each other’s company.These after dinner story telling sessions were actually therapeutic. Sitting to-gather, talking, laughing, sharing views, telling stories – it all has a positive effect on our bodies. Times have changed, traditions have died and the art of story telling is lost.

But before I go any further, I would narrate an incident that is so vividly alive in my memory that even today I can see it happening right in front of me … like watching a film.

We were living in Lahore at that time. It was a small two storied house, nothing like the houses we were used to living in. The main door leading to the hallway was actually a double door; an outside, wrought iron door and then a teak wood door – very heavy and strong. They both closed from inside and were kept closed all the time. Every night mother used to go down to double check if they were locked. I will not go into the details of the layout of the house except that all levels had a room and a small veranda but the main living quarters were on the first floor. My mother, my four siblings and myself used to sleep in one room, safely locked in and cut off from the rest of the house. especially from the two flights of stairs. One coming up from the hallway to the first floor and then after a small corridor, going up to the second floor. It was on the left of the room we used to sleep in.

I was eleven years old, and the youngest was a little over two. Our two older brothers didn’t live at home because of their jobs. One was in England getting trained for the company he had gotten a job with, and the other was in some other city but quite far from Lahore.

It was summer, peak of the season, when there are no rains and hot and dry winds blow. Then it peaks with a sudden clap of thunder and a high wind carrying sand and dust. This is called ‘kaali aandhee’ because dust in the atmosphere makes it so dark that one cannot see any thing. After an hour or so the wind lets up and rain takes it place. A terrifying storm lashes out for another hour or two. This is what happened one evening. Mother checked all the locks on all the doors. Stairs going up to the second floor also had a door at the end of the stairs and it could be locked from either sides. All doors checked, she came in, locked the door and we, all six of us, sat down on our mother’s bed to ride out the storm. I don’t know about mother but all of us were scared.

Suddenly we heard a door burst open. Mother pushed us aside and sat up, very still, very quiet and alert, trying to listen to any unfamiliar sound. Nothing. Then there was a slow, rustling sound. Mother went to the door and stood there, listening. Again nothing. She came back looked at our terrified faces and said “I have to check what or who it is” and with a resolute confidence opened the door and looked out. There were some dried up leaves outside the door. She went up the stairs, closed the door again, picked up the leaves that the storm had brought from somewhere and came in and locked the door again. She climbed back on bed and picked up the youngest one in her lap. “Was it a Djinn, mother?” number three asked. “I don’t know and I didn’t see any.” “Do you think djinns are hiding in these dry leaves?” “these dry leaves? ” she said “no, how can they hide in these tiny leaves?” She paused again. ” I am a djinn, if there is any. Now go to sleep. I have to get up early,” and closed her eyes. It was not raining hard anymore and her saying that she was a Djinn if there was any, put back confidence in my eleven year old heart. My four little sisters and brother also relaxed and fell asleep.

That said, I come back to my main story about my relative.

I don’t know who she was but she was a regular at my mami jan’s house. She loved hukka and mami jan made sure that there was enough tobacco in the house and of the finest quality. Everyone knew that a djinn was in love with her. sometimes she would go under his spell and her whole personality would change. Eyebrows arched, eyes closed, face red, teeth bared a high pitched voice and an unnatural laugh that would send a shiver down your spine. That lady had high cheekbones and dimples on both sides of her face. Every body said that she was beautiful when she was young , and I am sure she was.

They said that one day after taking a bath, she went up on the roof to dry her hair in the sun. A djinn was also in the vicinity, enjoying a winter sun. Lo and behold, one look at a beautiful girl with raven black hair framing her dimpled face and he forgot to flap his wings and with a ‘thonk ‘ he dropped out of the blue sky right in front of the girl. When she saw a handsome man suddenly appear out of nowhere, she fled down the stairs, screaming and crying, stumbled and fell down the stairs. She fainted. She was not the same person after that. Poor girl could not get married once the story went around. No mother was willing to risk the life of her son at the hands of a djinn.

I only remember seeing her when she was probably in her sixties. Every one in the family knew how this lady’s Djinn had predicted the future of my nani ma and her two sons – my maternal uncles – chhote mamun and barre mamun.

This is how the story goes. My nani ma was widowed at a very young age, with three young children and the fourth one on the way. (That was my mother, born three months after her father died) I do not remember anyone giving me the details, but she belonged to a rich family and it was not difficult to raise her four kids – son, daughter, son and again a daughter. Sons were given a good education but not the daughters, older daughter did her primary school, with Arabic and Persian and got married at the age of seventeen. The younger one was pulled out of middle school and was started on preparing her trousseau. All four of them were beautiful but this one was an exceptional beauty. At eighteen she was still unmarried. since she was born three months after my Nana Abba’s death, she was considered bad luck and people thought that whoever she married, she would bring bad luck to him. Finally she got married at nineteen – too old according to those times.

I am getting side-tracked. Back to that lady and her Djinn. So one day when she was visiting my nani ma, her djinn also tagged along. Sucking and puffing on her hukka, the djinn lady turned to my nani ma ” Shezade, you have taken good care of your sons. Your older son will have a good and prosperous life. I see some gundas giving him hard time but it would go away. Be happy that he would die a happy old man. your younger son would eat and drink out of gold and silver plates and cups. He would go around the world and have his own court.” the djinn fell silent so did every one around her. She pushed the hukka away. ” What did you feed me for lunch Shehzade, I feel so full. She yawned, laying down on the divan, she asked for a blanket and went to sleep but the story never did.

Her prediction was correct, word by word. My nani ma’s older son joined the army, fought in the second world war. He was captured by Japanese. Was a p.o.w for two years or maybe more. Came back with no limb missing even though the gundas gave him hard time in captivity. His captor, the Japanese corp commander used to slap this six footer, standing on a chair. He retired from the army as major general. Died in his late seventies.

My nani ma’s second son won a Gold Medal in Economics and Statistics from Punjab University. Joined civil service. Became Secretary of Finance in the government of Pakistan. Then he was at the UN working for the economic affairs of some eighteen Islamic countries. I don’t know anything about eating out of silver and gold plates but he attended some banquets thrown for the Dignitaries by the Queen of England. Maybe they served in golden plates and silver glasses…. I do not know. Maybe it was symbolically used because he led a very rich and comfortable life. He traveled a lot. To African countries, European countries and of course the Middle East, and Far east.

Does it mean, there was a djinn after all? Does it mean that there are Djinns and parries and ghosts all around, living in our space or we are living in their space? Is it that Sometimes we collide and become aware of each other or one of us becomes aware of the other’s presence and strange things happen? Like what happened on a cold winter night when I woke up in the middle of the night and heard a strange sound like a huge caravan of people was on the move … migrating to unknown destination. A strange quietness befell. No wind stirring, no night owl hooting. A stillness hanging all around and from that stillness a strange marching sound emerging and expanding. I felt something but what!!?

I wrapped my quilt tightly around me and kept hearing that sound till it suddenly died down. Didn’t fade or sound distant. Just stopped. Suddenly. Like a door left open, was suddenly closed.

Mariam to her Dada : Do you remember Dada that Dinosaurs died a long long time ago?

Dada : Yes bibi, I remember that.

Mariam : Well dada, they are still dead.

Ms. Buksh, my psychology professor was a nice lady. Very firm but polite. No nonsense type but friendly too. And if you did well in her class she would look at you with a twinkle in her eyes and reward you with that rare, angelic smile, saved for special occasions. I wonder if she is still alive. No I don’t think she is, but if she is then she is the oldest living person on the planet Earth.

She took my philosophy and psychology classes and made me fall in love with the subject. For quite some time and for some reason I had decided that once in college, I would get a degree in psychology. I remember being told by my family that it was a dry and boring subject and had no practical value. But I was adamant. “It has a great value. If nothing, at least it would help me understand my self better and the people around me even better.” My mother was horrified. “Do you think people around you are half wits?” I laughed and told her that that was not what I meant.

I knew why my mother was suspicious. Because she was upset with me.

I was the Editor of my school magazine and a regular contributor also. One of my articles published in the magazine was about people having two faces. One for the family and the people you don’t have to impress, as they are not a threat to you in any sense of the word. This is the real you.

And the other face is a fake one. that you show to the world to impress, impress with false pretense. This kind of stuff coming out of a 15/16 year old… I mean young and inexperienced girl was just not acceptable. My mother was angry and reminded me that I was being overly smart. That same week I had already had a falling out with my mother.

We were at a wedding reception. It was actually my maternal uncle’s son getting married. Everybody was laughing, talking, gossiping and having a good time. At one point, when I was looking for my mother I saw her standing at the edge of the party with a group of people, actually the group was the groom’s sisters, who were my mother’s nieces but nevertheless almost the same age.

I went and stood there to be noticed. We were trained not to interrupt when elders were talking. And not to talk until spoken to. So I waited. And listened. They were talking about another set of cousins, who also were my mother’s nieces but neither rich nor very educated. Two minutes into listening and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Thats not nice,” I blurted out. “Not fair to talk about people who are not there to defend themselves.”

There was a deathly silence. “What? What did you say?”

I could feel the steel in my mother’s voice.

“I came here to tell you that Mami jan is looking for you.” I said hurriedly and ran away.

My mother didn’t talk to me for two days after that. It was the usual clash of generations. An asserting teenager behaving like an ‘aflatoon’ (Plato, the Philosopher) and a mother yet not ready to accept an independent, thinking on its own two feet, mind.

Throughout the four years of my college (in Pakistan) Psychology remained one of my subjects. When I finished college, Mrs. Zakaria had replaced Ms. Buksh. Why? Because we moved to another town. It was here that I decided to do my Masters in a different subject. (This is a post in itself for another time.)

I hadn’t thought about Ms Buksh for years now, but recent events in politics reminded me of her and her lectures.

Once we did a workshop on behavior – how and why people behave in certain ways in certain situations. One can win or lose one’s argument depending on how one behaves presenting it. This includes body language along with the choice of words. A person who knows what he is saying is not correct but does not want to admit it, shall resort to using insulting language to unsettle his opponent. He shall become belligerent to impose his superiority. He shall be rude, and belittle the person he knows little about… only wanting to hide his own shortcomings.

I listened to Mr. Bollinger’s speech and wondered about her impact on him had he been her student once!

I have a bad taste in my mouth.

What happened there in Columbia University made me sick in the stomach. What is wrong with us? We invite some one in our home and treat him in such shoddy manner? We claim to be educated and civilized. So then what happened to decency, respect, politeness? Why an educated President of a prestigious University tried to set up negative mood for the audience – who probably came with an open mind to listen to the guest and make their own judgment – in his opening speech? Who was he trying to please? impress?

It was Columbia University after all and if that prestigious institution invites somebody to their halls then of course it means something. But setting a tone or mood before hand in my opinion is same as denying someone freedom of speech and in a broader sense, human rights as well. This is all so subtle, smooth operation. No one notices.

I do not agree with Iranian President on many issues but on principle, I was all respect for him the way he handled this mistreatment. He didn’t loose his poise, his composure. Insults were hurled at him in front of the whole world. He was called a petty and cruel dictator and he was told that he was uneducated. There were some other harsh words. It was a rude speech; not becoming of a university president.

Why can’t a person be polite and respectful and still be detached and firm? We don’t have to be belligerent to tell the other person that we don’t agree with him and his ideas.

And the media? true to their real self, were clamoring for the ratings, trying to outdo each other … Oh, they had a field day and they would keep having it till the next ‘ a cow flew over the moon’ headline.

Note: quite a few years back I read this article in a Pakistani newspaper and saved it for future reads.

“”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) is one of the most outstanding personalities the west has produced during the modern times. He was a poet, a philosopher and a scientist who had excelled in botany, biology and physics. It was his literary abilities and poetic excellence that won him lasting fame.

Goethe was attracted towards the east from the beginning. His romanticism and varied love experiences have contributed towards the rich legacy of touching lyrics. His serenades to Anna Katherina, Lili Schonemann and Marianne van Willemer carry a superb flavour of eastern melody.

It was 1819 when the aging Goethe got a new German translation of the ghazals of Hafiz and Shiraz. Saadi’s Gulistan was already available to the German readers since 1721. These eastern mystic influences helped Goethe write his masterpiece, West Ostlicher Divan, a delightful blend of the east and the west, the orient and the occident. From now onwards, Goethe’s personality was transformed into an eastern spirit wandering in Shiraz, Hafiz and Saadi. He started to wear eastern costume and call himself Hatem Goethe and addressed to his colleague and beloved Marainne von Willemer as Sulaika (Zulaikha) Willemer. She too has written many lyrics on eastern tradition that are included in the Divan.

Besides these literary contacts and transitions, Goethe had seen the Bashkiri Muslim soldiers of a Russian Contingent stationed at Weimar, read their prayers and recite the Holy Quran in a murmur. A German army officer who had fought in the Spanish Civil War had presented him a codex of fine Arabic Calligraphy that left lasting impact on him.

Goethe was deeply influenced by the spirituality and divinity of Islamic teachings as he has paid glowing tribute to the Holy Prophet in Mahomet’s Gesang. He was so much impressed by the Islamic teachings that he wrote: “If Islam means submission to God, we all live and die in Islam’s dominion”.

How much he loved the cherished east is evident from the following verse:

North, west, south in fragmen’s break
Thrones are bursting, empires quake
Seek the unsullied east, for there
You will sense patriarchal air!
There in purity and right,
In the depths I will seek for light…

Goethe’s contribution to science has also been substantial but more important is his reasoning that materialistic knowledge alone cannot solve the mysteries of nature. The knowledge of self should develop with the knowledge of the world which is a typical Islamic sufi doctrine of Maulana Roomi.

Goethe’s most famous work Faust is a mystical travelogue showing marked similarities and analogies with the Muslim safi tradition. The human being is bound to err but he should strife and toil to prevail over evils seeking God’s help and protection. Like Divine Comedy, Faust also expounds the untold mysteries of the other world. It is a continuity of the subline interaction between the Muslim east and the Christian west. “”

My six years old granddaughter calls me from Toronto to tell me that one of her tooth is getting loose.

Its good to know that her growing up is good and on right track but what would you do to comfort a grandmother’s heart that this precious thing in her life, might sometimes have a toothache if a tooth is too loose but still hanging on and eating and drinking is making it even worse.

But she was her usual happy self. I asked her if she wanted someone to fix it. “oh no Dadi, I will get a new tooth after this one falls off. also the Tooth Fairy will be happy to get my tooth and I will be happy with what she would give me”

What do you think she is going to give you, I asked.
“Sometimes they give candy or something sweet and sometimes they give money. But you know Dadi, I think she is going to give me money.” Good thinking ! but who was the real thinker here? I had to suppress a laugh.

I told her that we would tell the Tooth fairy her wish. “Okay Dadi, thank you and I love you. Now where is Dada? May I talk to him too?”

I handed the Phone to her Dada. And when I was leaving the room I heard him say “oh your tooth is …… ”

She was making sure that this very important news reaches all the right corners of her world.

Please Tooth Fairy, be nice to her! I said a little prayer before leaving the room to a smart kid and a gullible Dada.

These despicable terrorists are now targeting Chinese people living in Pakistan. Chinese ! of all the people! live and let live practicing, Peace loving, hard working, polite and beautiful people!

Some body please tell me what is wrong with this fanatic, so called Mulla community? We thought it was their privilege to spread the Islamic teachings of peace, respect, tolerance, humanity and humility not tyranny and imposing unlawful authority over who ever they decide. These tyrants who deny basic human rights to women,are now using them for their own agendas by arming them with batons and poles to go out and threat those who are not militants like them.

But do they have any idea what they are doing to the country? They are Killing, abducting , burning the buildings, destroying property, ruining businesses. Do they have any idea that their destructive behavior
would ruin the economy. And a weak economy means a weak and vulnerable country.

My question is where all this money come from? The money these people freely spend on weapons and militancy? Why militancy? why not better educational facilities? All this money if spent on providing better educational facilities then of course they would be hailed for taking care of the woes of the poor and helping them work towards a better future. The more educated and enlightened a society the more chance it has to improve and stand beside the civil societies of the world. A burqa clad baton wielding female does not look respectable.

The whole world is watching … may be laughing too …ha ha, let these uneducated, jungle people kill each other. Good riddance .. world would be a whole lot better place without them. And you know what? When a vacuum occurs air rushes in from all directions to claim it.

Think about that. No? you think it does not happen in today’s world? I would say stop living in a fool’s paradise. There is a good chance, some one might say, enough is enough, lets do something.

Hmmm something! Remember British traders who came to your country for salt,Indigo and some Indian herbs? and stayed over for 2oo years ruling over you. So, – God forbid – if it ever happens; then?

Making a case for an operation is easy. We have done that before.

***
just wanted to share with you that the burqa clad, slinging a ladies purse on his arm, fleeing for his life moulana was even wearing stiletto heels, they say.

Its ratings. Its all about ratings.

All day long i was hearing about Paris Hilton’s interview on Larry King live at 9:pm. I thought I would watch it but when it was time for the interview, I was doing something that I didn’t want to leave in the middle so I didn’t go to the family room; and kept working on the computer. I knew that for the next day or two, it would stay on the news channels. Some one on some pretext would show the segments of this ‘Paris talking to Larry’ etc. I was not missing something important. I mean, I felt sorry for her when I saw her crying like how an ordinary, normal human being would do in such situation and I felt like comforting her like a mother would do to a child in trouble.

Then it was time for Anderson Cooper 360. This is not something that i would willingly miss. my work was finished anyways; so I went to join my hubby in the family room.

And there he was; our Anderson Cooper – talking about Paris and showing parts of the interview that had finished just a while back. There were three ‘experts’ with AC and with their help he was trying to understand who this Paris person really was.

People are not dumb. I am sure most of us saw what AC was doing. Every body knows Hilton is a ‘hot news’ right now and he was doing what he was supposed to do …. working for the ratings. Oh its fun watching these media people dipping their fingers; now how difficult was that to see? I love Ac. I really do. He is smart, he is sophisticated, he is intelligent and he is sly too. Has anybody seen a silver cheetah with black spots? AC, with his intense, boring down glance often reminds me of that sly cheetah. so the cheetah was out tonight hunting for the ratings. The world was shut out. PARIS HILTON was on; the world could wait.

With a little smirk lurking behind disdain he was trying to understand why people like her? What is it that has made her popular?

Well, didn’t he know he was doing the same thing. He was helping her gain this popularity that he said he didn’t understand.

my blog is officially on today.

it was my younger son who said, ma I am going to set up a blog page for you.
actually, it started even before that. my web page was so old now that it had lost all its luster. I was not adding anything new. people had stopped visiting, sometimes leaving a message suggesting to update the page, or emailing, telling me to wake up. So I told my son that enough was enough, and I was bruised all over with all the elbows I was getting from all directions. Better roll the red carpet – which was not red any more – and pull down the shutters. It didn’t happen right away but I knew he had listened and it willhappen in due time.

So when he was ready he told me he was setting up a blog for me. He gave me the instructions to navigate, what, where, how and when of what I would be doing. He said I was already kind of blogging when hardly anyone was doing that. And how was that? It was a place in my old website, that I had started many many years ago and where I would go when the mood would strike and write my inner thoughts, excerpts and snippets from my correspondence, from my stories, or from whatever I had read and it had left some kind of impression on me. that corner was my ‘retreat’.

hmmmm so my son was reading what i was writing. felt good to find that out:) he himself is an accomplished writer, photographer and movie maker….

to be continued …

june,26 9:47pm

sorry, it took me so long to get back. i was busy. actually i still am busy. i am doing some translation work …from English to urdu. its a commencement speech for the Graduation Ceremony in some university. its a
good speech. impressive i should say. i am sure the grads liked listening to it. contains lots of good sense and it would do them good to remember it while walking through the life.

to be continued …