Friday, 18 November 2022

Hanging Bridge of Death

The cables tied,

Like a death invitation from the picnic,

The rope with which

Corrupt and malicious, 

Played the game of death.

 

The hoodlums jumped along the hanging bridge,

With a half-shut mind lost sideways,

As the bridge overloaded fast,

The cables pave the way for the picnic-going thugs,

The guiltless is in his place and the guilty is in his place.

 

Thousands were left behind wailing and mourning;

The wounded and dead moving on pushing wheels, 

At last to the sickbay or crematorium,

However, gusty divers diving for the ill-fated, 

Around the bodies to save lives.

 

Death laid its unkindest ambush,

None will ever hug as they had in the arms of dear ones,

Away from the day, through it,

Death emerged with the broken ropes,

In the deep waters of river Machhu.

 

Dejected! I do not shout at your oaths nor mock you;

I read it and shed some tears,

There I want to make people sane,

There I wish to invent a new alphabet,

Of active breath and life. 

Wednesday, 7 September 2022

Dark Clouds

 Don't know my identity,

Male or female or something else,

Not sure about it truly,

"But surely not a curse." 

People laugh and clap,

On my identity, buried;

Given an opportunity, 

All want to play erotically.

Nothing new or wrong with this,

God has played with me,

Nature has played with me,

Even my mother has cheated on me. 

My existence is for others:

Nation, society or humans,

Born to work for others only,

Denied manliness or maternity. 

Abandoned by my own parents,

Immediately after my birth,

Fearing castigated by society,

Starved of breeding and sexual blessings.

Moved to quench all the fits of hunger,

People scorned and chuckled;  

Twisting and shrinking their faces,

Though, not lacking in merit. 

How could I satiate my needs,

Nobody can think of them, 

Have a heart and mind both,

Given a chance to show my worth.

I am neither male nor female.

 

Man: A Universal Fool

 Can answer to none,

Stands naked facing himself,

Stands by no one else,

Tale narrates man as a fool.

 

Always moving on the path

Of self-destruction and rot,

With hard fingers and a harsh heart,

A dark flash of hate and gluttony.

 

Toppling every indication  of humanity,

Dreaming of inaccessible goals,

He axes down his own feet,

Wishing his own salvation.

 

Inanely tearing down everything,

And breathing in a barren wasteland,

And the polluted and infected world,

Where once gods and angels walked. 

 

Huge edifices of unholy wealth,

Swayed over bankrupt hope,

Breathes trampled under the power of

A stubborn compulsive ringmaster. 

 

Demolishes all that is gorgeous and true,

To claims fool's fraction,

He has sneaked into a fool's universe,

He cosies among us all.

 

 

Monday, 22 August 2022

गायब उदासियाँ

 अरसे से छाई जिंदगी में परेशानियाँ ,

सारे जगत में फैल गईं उदासियाँ ।

 

रौनक गायब हुई जब था खौफ तेरा ,

तेरे डर से छाई हवा मै उदासियाँ ।

 

कोरोना था हम-क़दम और दुष्वारियॉं ,

तो थी राह मै डरावनी उदासियाँ ।

 

तेरे रहते बहुतेरे खुश भी थे ,

शैतान फेल्चिओं से दूर थी उदासियाँ ।

 

आनलाइन खुदा के रहमो करम से,

खेल गयीं- झूम गयीं बहकी उदासियाँ ।

 

ओबीएम खुदा के प्यार के असर से ,

फेकचियौं से डर कर भागी उदासियाँ ।                                            

 

उदासियों में भी कुछ को ख़ुशी का सबब मिला ,  

नकलचियौं के सामने सहमीं उदासियाँ ।

 

अफीमचियौं के हक़ में हाथ उठे लाख हाथ ,

चिलम्चियौं की दुआ के असर से डरीं उदासियाँ

 

सौ में से सौ नम्बर की खुश्बु आई

नम्बरों की इलायची से हूईं गायब उदासियाँ ।

 

ओ.बी.एम. इम्तहान

 कोरोना दूसरा बाप है सबका ,

खौफ दिखाता है सबको मौत का ।

संसार में आतंक लाने से पहले ,

मारकाट कर मिटाया घमंड चीन का ।

 

जन्म लेते ही मारा बाप चीन को ,

देश, वायु, पानी और वामियौं को ,

मार कर रुलाया-सुलाया उनको ,  

जीते जी मौत का भय दिखाया उन को।

 

मौत के आतंक मै भी मद-मस्त, 

उछ्ल कूद रहे थे सारे फेलची,

मिल गया ओबीएम नकलची,

जश्न मना रहे सारे अफीमची । 

 

नम्बर की बरसात हुई -सौ में सौ ,

फूल गये-झूम गये, सारे चिलमची,

मिला ऑनलाइन खुदा फेकची,

जिसने बनाया गधे को नामची ।

 

ख़ाईं सबने सौ-सौ इलायची ,

दुनियां को लगने लगी लाल मिर्ची ।

छूट गये पीछे सारे किताबी तोपची ,

इम्तहान बन गये मसखरे शेखची ।

Tuesday, 16 August 2022

Half Husband

 She is my spouse sitting beside me coolly,

Looking very ordinary and simple.

Appearing very calm but self-full of hidden arrogance,

Like Narcissus superiority and there sh lives with me.

 

Designed by parents but people failed simple countenance,

The ignorance and passion hid behind silence,

How such a guise came there? Such stuff

Crafted after a long discussion at the table of joy.

 

She had a mind too quickly made cheerful,

Too easily impressed by any other man.

My love never got any favour at her breast,

Officious sharks would get her higher.

 

Attracted towards men and women;

Good or bad un-judged, I know not why;

My love and care of decades-not cared;

Who'd bend to fault this kind of trifling?

 

Even had one expertise in talk or fooling;

Which I have not—I choose never to fall.

Oh, God! She has less fun with me, 

But more whosoever fools her.

 

Hark to the family success like the musical rain,

The aggressive woman attracted to the other's acts

The half-read liberated rots,

She attracted to talkative morons.

 

There we live—As if the happiest and the best.

Taming her through rarity like a storm in oceans,

Only a divine blessing from Lord Krishna,

Can illuminate our hearts and lives. 

 

The western winds—shooting from divine abode;

Can thrill her soul to beauty and love;

Like a saint taming his ego to zero,

And meditating his inner self with light divine.

Saturday, 16 July 2022

"MeLord is an Honourable Man"

 

Friends, Indians, Hindus, hark! dark days ahead;                                   

I come to cremate a be-headed dead,                                                                                                                         

A blameless soul, not to protect him.                                                                                                                      

The sin that humans perform lives after death;                                                                                                  

The good is mostly burnt with the bones;                                                                                                                

So let it be with the guiltless soul. The gracious MeLord                                                                                    

Hath blamed that comment from an arrogant woman:                                                                                           

If it were true, it was a dreadful burden,                                                                                                                    

And dreadfully hath blameless soul paid for it.                                                                                                     

He was just performing his Karma,                                                                                                                            

And the brutal dagger guided by brutal ideology:                                                                                                  

Gave him the most unkindest cuts.                                                                                                                        

Here, under umbrella of MeLord and others-                                                                                                            

For Melords are honourable men;                                                                                                                                  

So are they all, all honourable men-                                                                                                                          

But, honourable man should be above suspicion:                                                                                                    

Just like the wife of Caesar.                                                                                                                                              

Come I to mourn in, headless corpse's cremation.                                                                                                        

He was neither my friend nor foe and just human to me;                                                                                         

But MeLord says the spokeswoman was arrogant;                                                                                                  

And MeLord is an honourable man:                                                                                                                               

But, honourable man should be above suspicion:                                                                                              

Just like the wife of Caesar.                                                                                                                                     

She has argued well in many a debates in Delhi                                                                                                  

Whose reasons appreciated by all:                                                                                                                                 

Did this in woman seem arrogance?                                                                                                                           

When one rogue mocks Lord Shiva, she replied from history;                                                                                

Yet rogue was Pardoned and able woman castigated.                                                                                     

Arrogance should be made of mean stuff:                                                                                                             

Yet MeLord says she was arrogant;                                                                                                                              

And MeLord is an honourable man:                                                                                                                             

But, honourable man should be above suspicion:                                                                                                     

Just like the wife of Caesar.                                                                                                                                             

You did see that in Delhi politics,                                                                                                                               

Many a times she fought elections honestly,                                                                                                         

Where she could have misused power: was this arrogance?                                                                                  

Yet MeLord says she was arrogant;                                                                                                                              

And sure, MeLord is an honourable man:                                                                                                                   

But, honourable man should be above suspicion:                                                                                                      

Just like the wife of Caesar.                                                                                                                                             

I pen not to condemn what Melord spoke,                                                                                                                   

But here I am to pen what I feel right.                                                                                                                         

You all did like guiltless gentleman once, for his simplicity:                                                                                    

What fear stops you than, to mourn and speak for him?                                                                                              

O justice! thou reason swayed by violent ideology,                                                                                                  

And justice has lost the reason. Stand with me;                                                                                                               

My heart is in the in the funeral pyre with poor soul,                                                                                                  

And I must wait till the killers and their ideology is wiped out. 

 

(Based on William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, speech by Marc Anthony)  


Shahrukh and his Dreams

 Shahrukh was the best friend of mine,

We studied together in childhood time,

He was always last in studies and line,

And never cares about the lessons fine.

 

When asked some questions about history,

He thought it as if was an Arabian mystery,

All laughed at his mess as if he was a jockey,

And I felt distressing for him and sorry.

 

Some of us became powerful collectors,

More intelligent became surgeons and doctors,

Shahrukh became a time pass jester,

He just wanted to be a Maulana clever. 

 

The harsh strokes of life and forlorn,

There was no solace for him of any form,

Even the birds and animals have cozy sojourn,

But Shahrukh has no respite from thorns.

 

We all lost in lives joys and agony,

Some have sunlight, some have tales funny,

Shahrukh sat with his Holy Book on balcony,

No one was there to pull him out of tragedy. 

 

Shahrukh ooze out now and them to enlighten,

Lamenting about lost days failed to brighten,

After a cup of tea, some gossip and illusion,

All desire him to go as early and forgotten.

 

For all, Shahrukh and his ideas were crass,

All achieve a little less or more, they brass,  

But Shahrukh lost in his prayers and mass,

That he wanted to fly with Arabian trash.

 

Always "Do thy Duty because Work is Worship,"

Sluggish army can be routed yet with biggest warship,

Karma is the highest religion and worship,

It can defeat the life's harshest whip.

 

 

Sunday, 19 June 2022

Celebrating Poverty

 With sound high I come, with my agenda and my manifesto,

I celebrate poverty for usual victors only,

I shout poverty-poverty for dead and defeated persons.

A defeated man's thoughts of schools,

A defeated man enjoying freebies and never-ending rest,

Blooms with life itself, cannot have.

 

Now I know the masses and the leaders;

And these I observe these begging eyes,

Those fables of mystic voyages are all meaningless.

Villas equipped with an immoral wealth

Sailing to the bottomless dark seas

Marching on the soul's cruise.

 

Lots of aimless boys and girls, herding in schools and colleges

Learning erroneous education, bunking classes.

Missionaries and Maulanas making fast bucks. 

And you India creating a fake Utopia ;

Crying the real reckoning for her lot,

The shadows of your future, evil and evil.

 

Flow, Flow the finest wind of Democracy,

Value thy beauty, 'tis not the freebies only

The Duty and sacrifice are also amassing in thee.

Thou embrace freeloaders alone,

Not of suckers contingent alone, 

Nation floats on morals and character.

 

A nation is built by merit and honesty; 

With her Time tours with pride

With all her ancient scriptures, martyrs, heroes.  

Fought wars, thou bore the many crowns

The message of love and compassion;

Seers bless her with divine hands and sparkling eyes.

 

O countrymen, thou carries priestly nation sails with thee

And great sagely India sails with thee

Don't celebrate poverty, and sing poverty. 

I roam and invoke my sole,

And what I believe all will believe,

For each grain belongs to one as good belongs to you.

 

Schools and hospitals are all free;

Born dissatisfied while sufficed, but never happy;

Harbor is always bad, fleeing at every hazard.

Rush for a loaf at their ease watching a coughing leader,

His tongue, each atom of his blood, created from this soil and air,

Now in perfect health and budding youth sick like death.

 

In thick walls of abode, in huts, sleeps hunters after day's sport-begging;

The village sleeps, the town sleeps and the country sleeps;

The dead sleep for their sins, the living sleep ruining their time.

They tend poor and hungry; old, young wise much as the fools,

Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse and immoral;

Southerners as well as Northerner-sternest burden on the earth.  

 

For leaders, those were good to gain pleasures,

Excellent to fall and lost, everything is lost in that dust;

Which they raised and won.

They eat the pound of the sick;

They blow through their poverty-loudest and merriest for them;

Worshipping those with so many pangs of hunger.

 

Those are with an empty vessel to sink the nation!

Those will themselves, sink all!

They will sink all the national vessels in the dark sea.

Fake Generals are in arms with those who sank

And the generals won powers have defeated heroes!

Living in the dark world or Narcissa who sank. 

 

Spreading gloom that stopped playing kids,

The meadows have turned bald and barren;

Even brides and grooms have faded.

Space has fallen short and dirty;

Cry of merit and hard work shaking heaven and earth;

A choked voice filled with fear and silence in the air.

 

Dew of dawn has stopped cheering children,

Mad rush for the work-less work rings the bell;

Screeching tyres were stopped by free-loaders.

Inhabitants are throbbing for liberation, into nature;

Struggling for means usually than usual -

Hating their face in the garden of unseen shores.

 

The wrinkled clerk spoke unclearly past his torrid glasses,

Wheezing in and out, head and heart waggled unknowingly,

I muttered a "have a nice day" back in the dark.

Running for freebies throughout life,

To auction them in the charity market,

The clerk cried," No more bagging!" 

 

None realised that all are becoming old wags,

All are reaching the failed abode of pain,

Of aimless life, of the day after day melancholy.

Lost in a perennial intoxication of nothingness,

Till death, till Yama on buffalo blown he bugle

To wake everyone of their sins and glory. 

 

The loss was invisible in the din and noise, 

Now it will be a national shame and curse,

Faster, diminishing the splendour and energy.

In these days of shifting stands,

Living is bogged by troubles and pains;

Wounding the body and the soul.   

 

Eyes always cry for heavenly bliss,

To hear the music of thrill without hiccups,

Where every crumb of food flavour is venomous with pain.

Where even Lord's hymns sound jarring, 

Where the melodious voices irks mind, 

Where each breathing is filled with ache. 

 

 

Wednesday, 9 February 2022

No place for Secularism

 It has become a fashion in this country to discuss and talk about secularism on the one hand but supporting special benefits and privileges for minorities. Secular democracy is boasted as the best asset in India but in practice, secularism and democracy rotate only in appeasing some castes and minorities. 

The Hindu community is the real sufferer in terms of power and profile. Hindus are around 85% of the total population. Yet, they have never any voice in politics. Their aspirations are never cared for and represented. From Kumbh to Kanwar Yatra to Ram-Krishna Janmabhoomi- Kashi Vishvanath temples to Ayurveda to Yoga to Brahmans, all are brutally trolled and mocked. They are always on the defensive.

The present BJP government at the centre is doing nothing for the Hindus. The party and the PM are supported by the majority of the Hindus. A Hindu saint as CM of UP is criticised brutally although his performance as CM is the best in the country. The media is highly critical of the Hindus and Hinduism.

Most of the elitists, irritating, self-righteous, English-speaking fake liberals who control media and campuses have a very loving topic to blame the Hindus as oppressors and project the minorities as victims. Even they try to protect the terrorists and extremists as the victim of neglect or oppression. Politically minorities dominate in all facets. This is happening since independence. It is unbelievable that land where the majority of Hindus have no power.

Muslims and the British controlled the nation for centuries. Post-Independence Congress gave immense power to Muslims and minorities. So they think, it is unfair if Hindus demands equality. We lastly create a great nation, featuring the best aspect of secularism and become a global power. Practically minority religions play a dominant role in politics, governance, social norms, culture and education. Nobody has any problem. However, when Hindus demand the same equality and respect, all have a problem.

Kashmir is the recent example where mixing religion led to disaster. Punjab is also on the decline due to the mixing of Sikh and Gurudwara politics with the governance. Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Syria, Iraq etc are examples where due to the takeover of Islamic extremists, today they are almost untouchable, oppressive countries. The same disaster was done by Christian extremists and missionaries in the name of crusades in medieval times. If religion dominates politics, it will destroy society and the economy.

In this aspect only Hinduism is different. Hindus have an innate tendency to bond with 'people other than us.' They never created any hindrance in the smooth running of a modern state. They have a variety of cultures, languages, sects than any nation in the world. But the secular parties run the country based on religion and castes. They never focus on what was important- good governance, development and a strong economy.

Independent India was haphazardly and hurriedly designed, as the British left suddenly. They divided the nation and Islamic Pakistan was created. However, India's designed a so-called key asset-a secular democracy clamouring everyone was equal. However, practically the minority communalism flourished with the full support of the state which has become almost a kind of extremism. Now, the hijab is more important to Muslim students in Karnatka than education and secularism. In Gurugram, reading Namaz on the roads and other public places has become a big problem.

Before Independence, India neither had a democracy nor secularism in its history. The British also left us many institutions that enabled special status to minorities like Church controlled educational institutions, madrasas, Waqf Boards, SGPC etc. They were supported by parliament, judiciary, constitution, executive and bureaucracy. Unfortunately, the nation not only inherited them but also preserved and strengthened them until date. Our neighbouring nations are lucky that they have no such communal institutions. We are still guarding these institutions. We care about minority religions and even guarding their fundamentalism and exporting such ideas. Even so many Islamic terrorists are found in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Bangladesh and other nations who are the products of Indian madrasas or influenced by Indian preachers like Zakir Naik.

For guarding our democracy, democracy and secularism we have to shut such institutions. Once we lose them, we will lose them forever. We must show minorities their equal place. Special rights to any religion will destroy secularism, justice and religious harmony. We should not support minority fundamentalism. India's democracy is under threat. The needle has heavily moved towards minorities. Kashmir, Punjab, Bengal, Nagaland, Mizoram etc are examples. This is high time to be conscious of the results. When it is too late, nobody won't even be able to read and write such articles. Kashmir is the best example of this type of extremism.

Hindus have given so much to the minorities but they got nothing in return. The nation does not want the re-run of Nalanda or the destruction of Hindu temples. Hindus have been at the receiving end for centuries. In post-independence India, the situation has not changed. Hindus are still treated as second class citizens. No religion should dominate in a democracy.

There should not be any dominant religion. All should be equal. Uniform Civil Code is the best answer to secularism and equality. We must condemn the mindset of Muslims first right to resources.

Saturday, 22 January 2022

An Intersectional Feminist Study of Smashing Islamic Patriarchy in Meera Syal’s My Sister Wife

 Meera Syal (born 1963) is a very popular English actress and writer. She has written many screenplays and two novels. She has also won many prestigious awards including Media Personality of the Year in 2001. She has Indian roots and descendent of an Indian family. She was born in a small town near Wolverhampton in the West Midlands. She has good education including a BA in English drama from prestigious Manchester University.

            In 1996, Meera Syal wrote her first novel, Anita and Me which has semi-autobiographical notes. The novel reflects her pain and experience as an outsider child in British society with dark skin, who gradually realises and recognises that she was the outsider and the ‘other’. This left an indelible mark in her writings and screenplays.

            On account of growing racism towards outsiders in her home town, Syal and her family left that town and moved to another place. The Anita and Me was nominated for the Guardian Fiction Prize and won the prestigious Betty Trask Award for the theme of racial equality.

Meera Syal was awarded an MBE in 1997 and won the ‘Media Personality of Year’ award at the Commission for Racial Equality’s annual ‘Race in the Media’ awards (2000), as well as the EMMA (BT Ethnic and Multicultural Award) for Media Personality of the Year 2001.  (British Council, (https://literature.britishcouncil.org/writer/meera-syal).

Her other novel, Life isn’t All Ha Hee Hee is an ironic and dry narration of ‘ethnic’ culture presently marketed and sold as a style accessory in the Western world in which Chila and her two female friends are employed or exploited in the novel. Proctor writes:

 On one level Life isn't All Ha Ha Hee Hee is a wry look at the way  ‘ethnic’ culture is currently marketed as a style accessory in the West and how Chila and her friends either exploit or are caught up in that scene. Like her work to date, Syal laughs at her protagonists without restoring to the usual clichés and stereotypes... Her work in fiction and on-screen is exemplary for how it uses humour to both challenge the limits of political correctness and to contribute to a politicised understanding of British Asian culture. (Proctor n.pag.)

            Syal’s screenplay My Sister-Wife is no exception. In this screenplay, she explores the predicament of the characters who live in western societies but hug the customs and traditions of their original roots. It is a disastrous idea for the migrants if they try to incorporate the norms and traditions of both cultures into their lives.

            The presentation of the play by Meera Syal, One of Us catches the attention of the BBC. The BBC gave Syal an assignment to write a script for a television show about the Muslim women of Pakistan. She used this opportunity to show off her skills and wrote My Sister-Wife. Clash of ages in Meera Syal’s play My Sister-Wife is one of the major themes. In the play, Syal attempts to present a clash of ages with an intersectional feminist presentation. The clashes are dominant in the life of the immigrants to Europe from Asia. It aims to corroborate the story by following the analysis of characters, culture, religion, and ages.

            Meera Syal was studying English and Drama at Manchester University, when her stage play, One of Us, came to the attention of the BBC. Syal was commissioned to write her first television script, on the subject of Pakistani marriage. She relished the opportunity, pointing out that “the pleasure of writing as an Asian woman is the pleasure of exploding stereotypes”. The resulting feature-length drama, My Sister-Wife, was a joint winner in the TV Drama category of the Commission for Racial Equality’s Race in the Media Award. (http://www.screenonline.org.uk/). For this project, “...Syal cooperates with Asmaa Pirzada who makes a research on four sister-wives in London” (Ranasinha 254).

            Polygamy among Pakistani Muslims is the core of the screenplay My Sister-Wife and this article. To exemplify the key points, the playwright tries to emphasise the character-analysis style to converse with the theme of the suffering of Pakistani Muslim women in a new, liberal, open, and inclusive western culture. This style is very apt to describe the dilemma of characters crushed between their intolerant traditions and the modernised and open life in their new western adopted homeland.

            Farah is a young, attractive, ambitious, and successful Muslim woman of conservative Pakistan origin. She was trapped in love with a cheat, Asif Shah who hid his marriage and two grown-up daughters. She was shocked to know the truth about his marriage and daughters and decided to break the relationship because he was already married already and "He’s a liar, mummy. He lies at me No-one lies at me" (Scene 5).

            However, Farah was obsessed with love with Asif and her parents used this infatuation, particularly her mother Mumtaz who tricked her into marrying Asif. The mother brainwashed Farah that he had just married his first wife, not for love but for family tradition, while he truly loves Farah. Moreover, his marriage to his first wife is not legally registered in Britain; hence, it is null and void.

In traditional Islam, women enjoy a secondary status because she is looked upon and treated as the weaker sex (zaifah) who is: emotional, irrational, unpredictable, irresponsible, indecisive, risk aversive and mischievous and therefore is in need of man’s constant supervision, protection and domination. (Kusha n.pag.).

            Mumtaz was a greedy woman who had her eyes on the wealth of Asif. She feels that the marriage is a suitable prospect for her daughter to enjoy his wealth because Asif is an affluent young man. Due to her rigid and fundamental leanings, she was comfortable with her daughter marrying a man who was already married because he belonged to the same religion and race. The mother used every trick to convince her daughter to marry any Pakistani Muslim even if he is not a proper match for her beautiful young daughter, "Could not get me to marry the village idiots in flares your friends kept suggesting. Asif is rich and brown so he’ll do...I’ll fab in the harem and if Maharaj-ji gets bored, he can swap me for a bloody camel" alleged Farah (Scene 5).

            Farah was an educated woman, and she was conscious of her rights as a woman in the secular British system. The national objectives of British society have been defined very clearly. The aim is to provide every citizen with the basic needs and complete freedom to have a life of his or her own choice. However, Islamic society denies this right to women. The aim is to create a democratic society that is strong and free, in which every citizen, irrespective of religious beliefs and preaching, will occupy an equal and honoured place and be given full and equal opportunities for growth and marriage. It aspires at ending religious oppression based on religion and doing away with present inequalities based on gender and religion. 

Muslim women have been fighting for their human rights all over the world. They are facing discrimination and violence both in Islamic and non-Islamic countries. This is often connected to the obligation to dress as Muslim women and cover their head or entire body. (Soltanoi n. pag.)

            However, the fundamentalist mother of Asif convinces her daughter in the name of "Honour [and] duty to the family" (Scene 5). The mother further advocates the case of cheat Asif that if he divorces his first wife, it would again shame him in the eyes of Farah’s family and friends. Furthermore, the mother of Farah adds that she can live cheerfully with the man, first, she loves, and second, he is wealthy and can adjust easily as I did: "love is simple", added Mumtaz who has passed her life with the large family of Tariq, her husband, and whom she met for the first time only at the wedding night. 

              The writer Meera Syal tells the readers how irrationally and forcefully the parents of Farah and Asif ignore gender equality, geographical liberty, and the gap between the two generations. They impose their faith and will on them and feel that what suits them and their generation in Pakistan will suit their daughter. The parents were also unmindful of the huge cultural gap between the fanatic Pakistani culture and the liberal and secular Western British culture. They transported this fanatic culture to Britain.  

            Internally, Farah herself has submitted herself to the fundamental traditional values of her family. Yielding to this tradition, Farah admitted that only marriage can make a woman a decent woman, "Finding respectability at twenty-nine and two-third..." (Scene 10) mumbled Farah to herself on her wedding day and her first night.

            Ruvani Ranasinha, in her famous book, South Asian Writers in Twentieth-Century Britain: Culture in Translation, dedicated a full chapter to evaluate the efforts of Meera Syal and Hanif Kureishi as they are described as cultural mediators through their literary and creative works. Even such a great writer could not understand the divided self of Farah and other such types of women. Ranasinha writes:

Kureishi’s and Syal’s work charts the uneasy relationship between post-colonialism and multiculturalism, addressing, in particular, the legacy of colonialism, and its efforts on immigrants and their descendants in contemporary Britain. What is distinctive about their generation is that they act as cultural translators, in their mediations between majority and minority communities rather than between countries. The politics of first-generation migrant writers’ reconstitution of the foreign country for the target Western audience contrasts with the later minority genre that juxtaposes, challenges and reinforces dominant notions of their communities. (Ranasinha 221)

            Farah was born and brought up, educated and preserved for a thriving career in England and is leading a very happy life. Yet, she could not resist marrying an already married elderly man with two daughters. However, she was trapped in love with the man she loved very passionately, and he was already a married man, Asif Khan. Asif lives with his mother, first wife, and two daughters in one huge house. He dupes Farah by claiming she is his only true love and that he was looking for her.Yet, Farah sees frequently that Asif visits to make love with his first wife, Maryam who has already mothered two daughters with Asif.

            Maryam always lives in a hidden dark world. No one outside the family of Asif knows anything about Maryam and her marriage to Asif. People have no idea that she is the wife of Asif. Their first marriage was not legally registered in Britain. Her only duty is to cook and do the shopping for household needs every day. She is very submissive, obedient, and looks after the household needs very well because she has no other choice.

The film revolves around Muslim ideals of femininity. According to the Koran, a man is legally entitled to “possess” up to four wives. Farah and Maryam are engaged in a cruel battle to win the commitment and love of their husband, Asif. Maryam emerges as the ‘winner’, as the woman who retains her sanity. Farah's descent into madness is attributed by her advisor, Fauzia, to her adherence to Western values, which equate sharing with weakness. (Shalini n. pag.)

            Maryam discovers a competitor in Farah. Both were trying to outdo each other to please and satisfy Asif. Paradoxically, both believe that Asif likes the style and form of others. Maryam begins to appear as a modern woman. She begins to wear stylish western dresses; starts cutting her black long hair in stylish western looks; drives a car; gets a job in the company of her rival Farah and starts working. She becomes very bold and aggressive, like a modern woman, and starts to treat her husband rudely and is rude enough to scold him, saying "shut up." Contrary to this, Farah starts to wear conventional Pakistani clothes and stops getting hair-cuts.   

            In her article “Citizenship and Gender in Asian-British Performance,” Meenakshi Ponnuswami concludes “the complexity and insight of My Sister-Wife lie in Syal’s sympathetic attitude if the cautionary portrayal of Farah’s longing for an ethnic home to be nostalgic about; Syal suggests that the inability to relinquish a sentimental t to an imagined history endangers rather than empowers women” (48). Syal, in My Sister-Wife, is essentially concerned with the diversity between the values and convictions of the children of the first generation of immigrants.

Rather than focusing on conflicts between cultures, she portrays the discord between generations within the same community. This focus on the differences between two generations within one community forms the basis of her appeal to new generations of readers, for whom these differences may be part of their own experience. (Ranasinha 225)

            The rigid and fundamental first-generation immigrants in My Sister-Wife are represented by the parents of Farah and Asif who very strongly cling to their convictions and traditions. Mother of Asif, Sabina forces to prepare traditional health tonics at home. She compels everyone to give those healthy drugs to children, and shockingly, parents also allow those drugs enthusiastically.

The strictest of those is known as the Hanbali school and forms the basis of hard-line currents in Islamic thought, including Saudi's ultra-conservative Wahhabism and variants of Salafism. It is this current that has further isolated women in the eyes of the law in states where Islamic law is practised or enshrined. (Dina Elbasnaly, Lewis Sanders IV).

            Farah's pleas to shift to another house have no impact on stubborn Asif. He does not budge even when Farah tells him that his mother has given her medicine that can kill her child instantly. Asif was not ready to smash the family traditions. He refused to live in a separate house with his second wife. The bitter dramatic irony is that the play happens in a very modern and civilised country and culture that has a very modern, liberal, and progressive culture and the best medical facilities available there.

The women’s reversal of roles testifies to the authority of the traditional Pakistani husband. Frighteningly expressive in her silence, and wearing a dark veil covering half of her face, Maryam at first carries out her duty as an obedient wife and servant with precision. But when Maryam gets a job and starts to wear Western clothes, make-up and jewellery, Farah becomes withdrawn and subdued. Housebound, pregnant and pale, she takes to her bed, usurping Maryam’s role as abject ghost-figure of the haunted house. In their periods of silence, Asif's two wives are equally desperate to understand their confusing position in this Western-Asian world. (Shalini n. pag.).

            Farah was torn between two cultures ― one was dark but still alive, and the other modern but powerless to smash the darkness. In the beginning, Farah is a symbol of resistance but in the next part, she surrendered herself to the Islamic patriarchy. She lost all the courage to smash Islamic patriarchy and enlighten the enslaved other women in the misogynistic Islamic world. Syal says that “she visits India at the age of twenty-two and finds out that the first generation of immigrants clings to traditions which are outdated in its homeland. Asif's mother symbolizes that generation that clings to traditions that have already been neglected in its home” (Ranasinha 225). 

            The mother of Asif, Sabia, tries to convince the two wives of Asif that the best and the easiest way to achieve Asif’s love and favour is to deliver a baby boy. She takes Farah to a witch for magic called Mata-ji to prepare her mixture that ensures that a baby boy will be born to Farah. Farah saw many women who were seeking the blessing and help of the same witch. Hence, the first generation of immigrants took this evil and formed its ethnic customs in Britain. Farah also falls prey to the witch Mata-ji and her witchcraft. She firmly believes that the Mata-ji has supernatural healing powers. The mental condition of Farah begins to worsen as she loses her first child due to the potions of Sabina. She has such blind faith in a witch, Mata-ji that she ignores the advice of her educated English friend, Poppy:

Farah: how can we resolve anything when there's always another person to run to when things go wrong. She’s got some potion from that Mata-ji witch Southall. She put a spell on him….

Poppy: listen to yourself. You’re an intelligent woman, you have got a career….you have to get out of there!....

Farah: because if I can get him into my own space, I can fight her if I could have a baby, I know I could get him back....

Poppy: I’m a woman. No woman I know could live like this. (Scene 65)

            Farah becomes obsessed with the thought that she must recapture Asif and thinks that delivering a baby boy is the lone way to win the favour of her husband. She finds out that Asif has coerced Maryam to abort because the foetus was a girl. Then she begins to converse to the ghosts of the four sister-wives who come into sight only to her. Asif calls Farah the madwoman in the attic.She even notes the start and finish times of Asif and Maryam sex time sessions. Finding that Maryam was expecting again, she conspired to poison her with the tonics she bought from the witch. However, accidentally Asif is poisoned and dies. Ultimately, both the wives failed to give birth to a baby boy. With this accident, Meera Syal symbolises the death of Islamic patriarchy that represses itself through its evil means.

           

There are moments of extraordinary visual poetry, notably a scene where Maryam after Asif goes away, offers Farah a hand (literally) in friendship. The camera cuts from a close-up of the two women sitting on the stairs ― their faces engulfed in shadows ―  to a high-angle shot of the pair partly obstructed by imposing wooden balustrades. Their facial expressions are no longer readable; all we see is Maryam’s illuminated palm reach out to Farah, who grasps and holds it in her hand. For a moment, the gesture seems genuine. It is all the more disturbing that, in the ensuing events, any chance of female solidarity is abandoned as the women murderously compete for their husband’s devotion. (Shalini n.pag.)

            In the play, women are oppressors of women and oppressed too and support Islamic patriarchy and polygamy. Mumtaz, Sabina, Mata-Ji, Maryam, and Farah ― all the characters carry out these evils. Mumtaz and Sabina force Farah and Maryam to accept polygamy. Magic-player Mata-ji gives potions to Maryam and Farah to control Asif and give birth to a baby boy.

Maryam and Farah compete for Asif’s love by trying to produce a male heir, underling the degree to which they are enmeshed in patriarchy. The text offers no solutions but tends towards a nuanced critique of polygamy. Syal suggests that the script took a polygamous set up in a wealthy family as a metaphor for the painful adaptation processes facing women of my generation. (Ranasinha 257)

            Asif also realises that polygamy is evil and admits it while talking to his friends:"...I am honest with my wife. Suppose that’s my burden, coming from a primitive culture" (199). Asif confesses but surrenders to the burden of cultural practices he perseveres to internalise and for which he finally has to pay a very heavy price.

            Sabina and her son, Asif are dead at the end. The play symbolises an intersectional feminist reading and Islamic patriarchy for the distress of the immigrants who leave their homeland due to religious fundamentalism and poverty. However, in the new land, they have no courage to shun those evils. The play is a message to be open-minded and the characters should adjust to the new, better life. Being a good woman or man does not mean surrendering to intersectional feminism or the patriarchal model of life. It is a misogynist model. 

Despite being a child of the Indian Diaspora, Meera’s narrative is distinct from the majority of diasporic writing in that it reveals an affection for the local village community, rather than the tropes of transatlantic travel preferred by writers such as Salman Rushdie and V. S. Naipaul. (Proctor n.pag).

            To conclude, the play presents the quandary of the immigrant characters who are connected to their rigid society and ethnicity, but they carry the burden to implement those values in a new liberal and forward culture. It is not only the oppression of women but men are also the victim. Asif could have easily lived either with Farah or Maryam but he keeps both of the wives and the children. The mother, Mumtaz, Sabia, wives Maryam, Farah, and husband Asif all internalise the Islamic patriarchy. Women and men, particularly the first-generation immigrants in the play, are both, the oppressor and oppressed.

            The play conveys the idea that men and women must have the courage to choose a superior life and a better future with self-respect. They should not follow their faith blindly in life. The play shows that blind submission to senseless traditions may lead to disastrous outcomes. The play is an excellent study of the clash of the ages and of intersectional feminism.

 

Web Cited

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Elbasnaly, Dina and Lewis Sanders IV. “Women's rights in Islam: Fighting for equality before the law, 22-05-2020. (https://www.dw.com/en/womens-rights-in-islam-fighting-for-equality-before-the-law/a-53539222).

Kusha, Hamid R. “Minority status of women in Islam: a debate between traditional and modern Islam.” Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs. vol. 11, no. 1, 1990. pp. 58-72, 20 March 2007. (https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02666959008716149?journalCode=cjmm19).

Ponnuswami, Meenakshi. “Citizenship and Gender in Asian-British Performance”, Feminist Futures? Theatre, Performance, Theory, Editors, Elaine Aston and Geraldine Harris, eds. Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

Procter, James “Meera Syal”, in file:///D:/Meera%20Syal%20-%20Literature.html Retrieved in November 28, 2019.

Procter, James. 2002, British Council. (https://literature.britishcouncil.org/writer/meera-syal).

Ranasinha, Ruvani. South Asian Writers in Twentieth-Century Britain: Culture in Translation. Oxford U P, 2007.

Soltani, Anoosh. “Confronting Prejudice against Muslim Women in the West.” United Nations University, (https://unu.edu/publications/articles/confronting-prejudice-against-muslim-women-in-the-west.html).

Syal, Meera. My Sister-Wife, in Kadija George, ed. Six Plays by Black and Women Writers. Aurora Metro Press, 1993, pp. 111-58.