A Reluctant Poet

It is never easy to write about someone whom you know very intimately, especially after his or her death. To pen down memories spread over years in a few hundred words is not the only problem you confront – with each word you write, a sense of loss encompasses you. The void created in your life because of the absence of that single individual somehow becomes the greatest reality of the world and life loses all its meaning, at least temporarily, for you.

Writing renowned poet and literary scholar Salahuddin Mahmood’s obituary, who died August 22 this year, I experienced this problem. He was the third leading literary figure whom we lost last month after Safdar Mir (Zino) and Taufiq Rafat. With his inherent goodness of heart and sophistication of manners, Salahuddin Mahmood had made a distinguished place for himself in the hearts of all his acquaintances. It would not be wrong to say that you just had to meet him to experience his cultured demeanour, which reminded one of his Aligarh upbringing, and become one of his admirers.

In fact, the Aligarh influence on his personality was the first thing you noticed either while conversing with him or reading his poetry. Born in 1934, Salahuddin Mahmood belonged to a very educated family. Muhammad Umaruddin, his father, was a philosopher of international renown. He also remained the Head of the Department of Philosophy and Psychology and Dean, Faculty of Arts, Muslim University, Aligarh. His mother was also a highly educated woman and was also taught by Bertrand Russell when she went to England for higher education on a scholarship.

Salahuddin Mahmood had hardly turned 15 before he had completed the voluminous epic of Talism-e-Hoshruba, thanks to his maternal grandfather, Professor Khalil Ahmad, who was among the most shining students of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan. Though he was an engineer by profession, his interest in literature and love for books grew so much with time that for the last many years he owned the best, biggest and most well-kept library in Lahore.

Before moving on to his literary achievements, I would like to share a few personal memories with the readers. He was one of the closest friends of my father and I got acquainted with him at a very early age. But, my real relationship started with him after I started taking interest in literature. Thereafter, followed a unique association in which, I feel, he was always at the giving end.

His first gift to me was a set of three books by Latin American writer Jorge Louis Borges. After this, followed seven volumes of Talism-e-Hoshruba and the occasion was nothing but publication of one of my articles which he found quite interesting for my age. At the same time, he started sending me a copy of all his latest writings, which were mostly poems. Later, after I started doing translations, he motivated me to translate a complete book and also arranged a publisher for me. To add to all this were numerous cards on occasions like Eids and New Year. I am sure I was not the only one for whom he had done so much; he would have surely extended such favours to many.

Salahuddin Mahmood was a poet. It is unfortunate that he never published a collection of his poems, except for a thin leaflet, Kashf-e-Qarz Alwajood, which includes ten ghazals. Probably, this is also the major reason that he did not get the recognition he deserved as a poet. The other reason was that he never aligned himself with any literary group as he considered them crutches. “I have never felt the need to present myself before people by using the crutches of a literary group,” he had said during an interview.

Salahuddin Mahmood started writing poetry at a fairly young age. One of his poems found a place in Saqi, leading Urdu literary magazine of those days edited by Shahid Ahmad Delhivi, when he was just 14. But, it was only after 1963 that he people started knowing him as a poet. It was for the simple reason that before this he confined his poetry to himself.

Salahuddin Mahmood was one of those few people who did not choose poetry; it was poetry which chose him. He believed that good poetry could not be written by intention as it was a matter of inspiration. “The moment of inspiration is like a flashing of lighting which can be preserved only by someone having pure sensations,” he used to say. As far as his own poetry was concerned, it was purely inspirational in essence and revolved around a mythical innocence which he aimed to preserve as he felt it was fast departing us. He tried to recreate the first impression of his senses which had the greatest influence on him. It could be said that through his poetry, he sought his childhood spent at Aligarh and tried to immortalise it.

Salahuddin Mahmood also remained associated with Savera, which was perhaps one of the best Urdu literary magazines, as Editor for almost ten years. He edited some memorable issues of Savera in which some of the best modern Urdu literature was published. He used to give paintings to short story writers asking them to write whatever came to their mind after watching them. Many of the stories written in response were the best by those writers. The paintings were published along with the stories and added to the beauty of the magazine.

He was also a translator par excellence and rendered the works of many important Western writers and poets like Herman Hesse and Jorge Louis Borges into Urdu. For the last 30 years, he was busy translating the Holy Quran into Urdu and had completed about 50 percent of it. Hopefully, somebody would take the initiative and complete this venture. To the surprise of many, despite all his learning, he was a deeply religious person. His travelogue of Haj, Khak-i-Hijaz kay Nigehbaan, which gained immense popularity among the religious circles, bears testimony to this.

Salahuddin Mahmood also contributed a lot to the Urdu prose. He can be rated among one of the best contemporary prose writers of the language and his essays on Sir Syed Ahmad Khan and Muhammad Salim-ur-Rahman can be presented as a proof of this. Reading his prose is an unique experience as it has a poetic flavour. He was a genuine research scholar and Majmooah Rajinder Singh Bedi established him in this role.

The book of over 1,400 pages is a compilation of all the important works of Rajinder Singh Bedi. Every page of the book speaks of the devotion with which he undertook this gigantic task – it took him two years just to collect all the works of Bedi. It was followed by Majmooah Mirza Azeem Baig Chughtai, a similar work on the author in four volumes (Novel, Short Story, Novelette, Daastaan/ Mazmoon/ Drama). These works are surely more than enough to keep his name living in the Urdu literature. These days, he was busy compiling a similar book on the works of famous short story writer Rafiq Hussain.

Salahuddin Mahmood’s loss to Urdu literature may not be noticed in all its implications at present, but time will surely prove how important his presence was. In fact, such sensitive human beings and thorough gentlemen are the essence of every society, and a loss in their number hints at the ensuing decay. The only way to preserve them is through their writings.

By: Mustafa Nazir Ahmad

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My Identity is Short Story Writing

Masood Ashar wants to be identified as a short story writer although his achievements as a journalist and translator cannot be ignored either. He refuses to determine his status among the modern Urdu short story writers, but says candidly “I think I write very well.”
Born in Rampur (Uttar Pardesh), 62 years old Masood Ashar migrated to Pakistan in 1952. By the time he came to Lahore, where his elder brothers resided, he had done his Graduation. He had started taking fancy to literature since his childhood because of the literary environment available to him.
“I developed interest in literature because of great Urdu poet Shad Arifi who was a friend of my paternal uncle, Rasheed Ahmad Khan,” tells Masood Ashar. “Shad Arifi was a progressive poet and used to receive a lot of books and literary magazines which he kept in our home. During my holidays, I read some of them and this is how I had my first encounter with literature. Literary sittings held at our home also helped me in developing a taste for literature.”
Hence, foundation of his association with literature was laid much before coming to Lahore. In fact, his early short stories were published in leading Urdu literary magazines like Adb-i-Lateef and Adbi Duniya, an achievement not less than remarkable for a novice. He also wrote some poetry during this period.
After coming to Lahore he decided to adopt journalism as a profession. After having a brief stint in one or two minor newspapers he joined Imroz, the leading Urdu daily of those days. Starting as a sub-editor, he became the editor of Imroz (Multan) in 1959. Why did he decide to become a journalist? “When I entered journalism,” he explains, “unlike now a days it was considered to be a mission. Only people having a literary background used to come in this field. I was interested in the journalism because at that time it was the only forum through which one could express himself.”
He had an eventful career in journalism. As he was the editor of a newspaper supposed to toe government’s line, he faced many difficulties especially after the imposition of Martial Law in 1977. “I was transferred to Lahore in 1978 as General Zia wasn’t happy with me. In 1984, I was dismissed because I was among those who signed a resolution demanding restoration of the democracy. I remained unemployed for about four years before being reinstated by the PPP government in 1988. After spending almost four decades in the profession I finally said farewell to it after Imroz was closed down in 1990, but I don’t regret the decision as literature had always been my first preference,” he tells.
Masood Ashar always remained associated with literature in one way or other. As a journalist, he covered literary functions, wrote book reviews and a regular literary column Yeh Lahore hai. Meanwhile, he also remained in touch with the contemporary fiction written all over the world. He made a comeback as short story writer after almost a decade in 1964. When asked why he took so long, he replied: “I never had much time to write because of the nature of my job.”
Interestingly enough Masood Ashar has not written a novel as yet but he has a genuine excuse for this: “Short story is the medium through which I feel I can express myself in a better way. It was also the most popular genre of literature when I started writing. Other than this, novel demands hard work and a lot of time. I started writing a novel many times but couldn’t complete it because of time constraints. The general impression one gets after reading Urdu novels is that they are written in a hurry and that is why they fail to compete with the novels written in other languages.”
Although Masood Ashar wants to be identified as a short story writer, he is certainly better known as a translator. Not only has he translated some very good literature himself but has arranged publication of some excellent books through Mashal, an NGO where he is presently employed in the capacity of editor.
“Mashal prepares various programmes and gets them financed. Its basic aim is to create awareness among the masses. So far, it has published some 40 books on human rights, social sciences, women rights, philosophy, educational philosophy, health, environment and literature. All of them have been translations but we plan to publish original books also. We also plan to set up a mobile library in the near future,” he informs.
When asked whether he is satisfied with the standard of translations in Urdu, his immediate reply was: “Not at all. Our professional translators leave things which they don’t understand. I would call it literary dishonesty. Similarly, publishers also don’t care about the standard of translation. They should have there own editors like in other countries for re-checking of manuscripts. Our translators don’t work hard also because they are under-paid. Mashal has enriched the language by publishing good and precise translations of foreign literature.”
“But it doesn’t mean that there is a dearth of good translators in Urdu. To name a few are Sheikh Salahuddin, Muhammad Salim-ur-Rahman, Intizar Hussain, Asif Farrukhi, Ikramullah and Ajmal Kamal. I would specially like to mention quarterly Aaj in this regard which has published some very good translations of Persian, Arabic and Latin American fiction,” he adds.
He agrees that a good English-Urdu dictionary is yet to be compiled: “The dictionary published by Maqtadra is very comprehensive but has a lot of mistakes. Then, it is devoid of a pronunciation key which is very necessary. I feel that there should also be a good Thesaurus in Urdu as writers often use wrong words in order to avoid repetition. A good Urdu-English dictionary is also very much needed. As such projects couldn’t be carried single-handedly, Maqtadra should take the responsibility and form a board comprising capable persons. The board should also regularly update these dictionaries as new words of other languages are making way in Urdu.”
Comparing Pakistani literature with that of other languages, he comments “situation of literature in Pakistan is not as deplorable as it seems. Keeping in view the taboos and restrictions in our society creating even this literature is an achievement. While writing one is afraid not to infuriate the government, clergy or even his family. Our author faces a lot of limitations. This is also a major reason why not many good novels are written in Urdu.”
He blames our educational system for the decreasing interest in literature. “Earlier, our educational system created an understanding of literature among the students. People used to discuss literature, a practice now confined to Tea House only. It is because of our educational debacle that Urdu hasn’t produced a genuine literati for at least last 20 years.”
When asked about what he considers to be the achievement of his life, he came up with the expected answer: “I have given some very good short stories to Urdu literature and that is why I want to be identified as a short story writer rather than a translator or a journalist. But my obsession to write a novel remains.”

by: Mustafa Nazir Ahmad

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What Would Google Do?

Gossip and Google have a lot in common, not least omniscience. “There are some things that Man was never meant to know, but for everything else there’s Google.” [Marcus Warren]

If Google is so successful, shouldn't you be doing what they do? If you follow their philosophy, then you can be successful, too.

This book, by A-List blogger Jeff Jarvis, is a collection of Google fan-boy thoughts on how to do business in the internet age, using Google, and other high tech companies, as a model. The rules have changed. The old way of doing things no longer applies. We're entering a brave new world where the internet will bring about a tech-led utopia. [Peter Da Vanzo]

Here is the PowerPoint version of What Would Google Do?

WWGD? - The PowerPoint

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I am a born romanticist

“I am a born romanticist. Girls, trees, flowers and rains have always fascinated me,” claims 70-year old A Hameed adding with pride that “even before doing my matriculation, I thrice ran away from my home to explore nature’s beauty. I went to Rangoon, Colombo, Bengal, Madras and Bombay all alone without my parents’ consent. Memories of those days are still fresh in my mind and now I am living on them.”
It was not an easy job to profile a moody person like A Hameed. Being an introvert, it’s not very often that he agrees for an interview or a profile, but once he gets tuned up he even shares the account of his most vivid youthful romances with you. One feels that while relating them, he extracts a pleasure out of them. During our couple of hours long rendezvous in his study room, full of neatly arranged books on wide ranging subjects, I had a wonderful experience of peeping at the restless soul in him.
He was born to a Kashmiri family residing at Amritsar. He was named Abdul Hameed, but changed it to A Hameed in line with the tradition of those days. His mother wanted him to get education while his father had pinned his hopes on making him a wrestler, being one himself, allowing him to study only Persian. He wasn’t interested in both. Although admitted to school, A Hameed spent most of his time at Amritsar’s famous Company Bagh where he had his first encounter with nature. Meanwhile, he was taking regular lessons of Persian so that he can read out Sheikh Saadi’s Hikayat-i-Gulistan and Hikayat-i-Bostan to his father.
He took three extra years to do his matriculation, the end of formal education for him. It wasn’t due to his failure in exams but because once in eight standard and twice in ninth standard he ran away from his home. “I don’t remember what I used to do away from home. As I had no money, often I had to sleep hungry. People used to take pity on me and give me food and shelter,” he tells. “My English improved a lot while living in international cities like Colombo and Rangoon. I started reading romantic literature of the 19th century which has the greatest influence on my writings.”
Is literature his only love? The answer is no. “I try to extract nature’s beauty from all forms of art. A stroke of painter’s brush fills my heart with joy. I also take fancy to listening music especially Rabindra Sangeet (Rabindranath Tagore’s poems whole tunes are composed by himself) as it reminds me of the coconut trees, rivers, flowers and fragrances of Bengal. I listen spellbound to it.”
Comparing Wordsworth, Shelley and Keats, he comments that “Wordsworth is more close to nature but I like Shelley more as his poetry has more thought and he expressed feeling in a new style. On the other hand, Keats expressed human feelings and passion in a much better way although his poetry lacks thought.” Among novelists, Gorki and Chekov are his favourites.
“Rajindher Singh Bedi is the best Urdu short story writer in my view. He has Gorki’s affliction and Chekov’s realism, and can only be compared with Prem Chand. Personally, I like Krishan Chander the most and try to imitate him as he was also a great romanticist,” he confesses.
At the time of the Partition of the subcontinent, he was in Colombo. Soon after, he migrated with his family to Lahore where some of his relatives already resided. He wrote his first story Manzil Manzil in December 1947. “I used to write my diary, but had not written a story before. My friends Ahmad Rahi and Arif Abdul Matin, editors of Urdu literary magazine Adb-i-Lateef, convinced me that I can write one. Manzil Manzil, a true account of my romance with a girl from Lahore, was published in Adb-i-Lateef’s special issue of 1948.”
From then onward, writing became his only source of income. He wrote extensively for literary magazines like Savera, Naqoosh and Adb-i-Lateef. Within few years, he became a well-acclaimed author with many books to his credit. He also remained associated with the Progressive Movement. “Those were the golden days of my life. Lahore was the centre of culture and literary activities. In company of other literary giants of that era, I used to roam around all day. My final romance which ended successfully with my marriage in 1952 was also at its peak in those days,” he recalls passionately.
He attributes his success as a writer to the optimism in his works. “After the publication of my short story Aik Raat in Savera, its founder editor Chaudhry Nazir Ahmad told me that I gained popularity because people having fresh memories of clashes and riots find relief in my stories.” His first collection of short stories, Manzil Manzil, was followed by a novel Darbay. Next in line was a novelette Zard Gulab. Dhoop aur Shagoofay, another novel, followed pretty soon and further established him in the role of a novelist.
A Hameed wrote extensively during that period although he disowns most of it now. “I wrote all sorts of cheap romantic novels for fast and easy money. Now I regret that decision and consider it as the biggest mistake of my life,” he concedes. Since the 1970s, he has devoted most of his time to writing for children. More than 300 books of his popular Amber, Naag, Maria Series have already been published. He also wrote a series of adventurous novels popularly known as Commando Series. “It doesn’t mater whether it (Commando Series) has any literary importance or not, at least if offers something interesting to the readers. My literature for children not only carries a message, but also educates them,” he defends himself.
A Hameed writes his memoirs for an Urdu daily. The way he manages to recall and portray all the places and characters to perfection is remarkable. “God has gifted me with a wonderful memory. Whatever I plan to write comes before my eyes. Most of what I write is inspirational,” he claims.
A very humble reply came when asked about the achievement of his life: “My only achievement is that I have made an attempt to portray nature. I have tried to give a new dimension to it. Only time will determine my status among the romantics.” He dispels the impression that he is a narcissist: “I never rate my works very highly. People have created this false impression about me as I avoid meeting with them considering it a waste of time. Trees are my friends, every morning I spend some time in their company.”
“I know about my limitations. I know that how can I express myself in a better way. Why should I attempt at writing something of which I have no experience? Nor can I lie to my readers neither indulge in literary dishonesty,” came the sharp reply from A Hameed when asked hasn’t he restricted himself only to the account of his nostalgic experiences.
One may ask what is A Hameed? If I am to answer this question, I would say that he is a restless wandering soul. He wants to become a part of every particle of this universe. He loves every scene, every season and every manifestation of this universe. In his writings, this love shoots out like a spring flowing in mildly. His theme seems to be “to praise creation is to praise the creator.”

By Mustafa Nazir Ahmad

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The Reformist

Ziauddin Sardar, 57, is one of the leading contemporary Muslim intellectuals. He specialises in topics dealing with the future of Islam, as well as Islamic science and technology, and has published more than 40 books on related topics. What sets him apart from the rest is his command over the language, which he uses to such a good effect that he could be read as a fiction writer on the merit of his diction alone. For example, in his most widely-read book, entitled Desperately Seeking Paradise: Journeys of a Sceptical Muslim, he calls Islamabad “an architectural eyesore”.
Sardar has an amazing ability to simplify some of the most complex debates on contemporary Islam. To a cursory reader, he might seem to be stuck amid ‘secularism’ and ‘fundamentalism’, but he is not; he just takes the followers of both to task for their various ideological misgivings. It is for this reason that while he unleashed a scathing criticism on Salman Rushdie after the publication of The Satanic Verses, he also opposed the Iranian fatwa against him.
Sardar’s basic contention is that each generation must “reinterpret the textual sources in the light of its own experience”. Though identifying himself as a moderate, he embraces a willingness to look at the scripture as a product of its time that must be periodically re-examined, lest it lose its relevance for those who love it. This is perhaps the greatest achievement of Sardar, who lives in London with his wife and three children, as both a writer and an intellectual. Excerpts of his recent interview with Mustafa Nazir follow:

Mustafa Nazir Ahmed: Do you agree that many of the problems Muslims are currently faced with have to do with the way Islam is interpreted?
Ziauddin Sardar: We can only have an interpretative relationship with a text, particularly when we regard that text to be eternal. We have been relying on age-old interpretation of the Quran, one that is frozen in history. The context of this interpretation is the context of the eighth and ninth century Muslim societies, when the great commentaries on the Quran were written and Islamic law was formulated. But if the interpretative context of the text is never our context, not our own time, then its interpretation can hardly have any real meaning or significance for us as we are now. Historic interpretations constantly drag us back to history, to frozen and ossified context of long ago; worse, to perceived and romanticised contexts that have not even existed in history. This is why while Muslims have a strong emotional attachment to Islam, Islam per se, as a worldview and system of ethics, has little or no direct relevance to their daily lives apart from the obvious concerns of rituals and worship. So, yes, I do think most of our problems, the problems faced by Muslim communities today, stem from the way Islam is interpreted.
MNA: Is there a fixed essence of Islam? If either case, can you please elaborate?
ZS: Yes and no. There are certain absolute values and conceptual categories such as tawheed, risalah, akhrah, adl that we find in the Quran but beyond that everything else is open to interpretation. The contours of Islam are well established; but what lies within these contours has to be discovered by generations to generations, epoch to epoch. There is a unity within a diversity of interpretations; and no one can claim that their interpretation is more correct than equally valid other interpretations.
One of the worst aspects of contemporary Muslim societies is the essentialising tendencies of some Muslims, the insistence of some people that they know the essence of true Islam and that their interpretation is the only true and correct one and everyone must submit to their interpretation. This is like saying that there is only one way to be a Muslim; all other way of being a Muslim are not only wrong but should be subjugated. This is a totalitarian tendency that can only lead to a totalitarian society. But this outlook is not entirely new to Islam. It has a long history going right back to the formative phase of Islam in the seventh century. It began with the Kharjites who emerged a few decades after the death of the Prophet Muhammad.
The Kharjites were a puritan sect who believed that history had come to an end after the revelation to the Last Prophet. From now on, there could not be any debate or compromise on any question: the ‘decision is God’s alone’. They were prone to extremist proclamations, they denounced Hazrat Ali as well as Hazrat Usman, and pronounced everyone who did not agree with their point of view as infidel and outside the law. They also developed a rather narrow and fixed interpretation of what it means to be a Muslim. To be a Muslim, they argued, is to be in a perfect state of soul. Someone in that state cannot commit a sin and engage in any wrongdoing. Sin, therefore was a contradiction for a true Muslim – it nullified the believer and demonstrated that inwardly he was an apostate who had turned against Islam. Thus anyone who did any wrong from the particular perspective of the Kharjites was not really a Muslim. He could thus be put to death. Indeed, the Kharjites believed that all non-Kharjite Muslims were really apostates who were legitimate target for violence. Al-Qaeda, the Taliban and other extremist groups are the direct contemporary equivalent of the Kharjites in our time.
There are three aspects of the neo-Kharjite thought that we need to appreciate. First, this tradition is ahistoric. It abhors history; and drains it of all humanity and human content. Islam as a religion, interpreted in the lives and thought of people called Muslims, is not something that unfolded in history with all its human strengths and weaknesses, but a utopia that exists outside time. Hence it has no notion of progress, moral development or human evolution. Second, this tradition is monolithic. It does not recognise, understand or appreciate a contrary view. Those who express an alternative opinion are seen as apostates, collaborators or worse. It also means that there is only one Islam: other interpretations that differ from the neo-Kharjite variety are outlawed. The plurality and diversity of Islam that has existed for the last 1500 years is expunged. Third, this tradition is aggressively self-righteous; and insists on imposing its notion of righteousness on others. It legitimises intolerance and violence by endlessly misquoting the Quran and Hadith. It sees other Muslims as a legitimate fodder for violence and terrorism.
MNA: Is there a need to reform the Shariah? Moreover, is it possible considering that there are so many sects and schools of thought within Islam?
ZS: Most Muslims consider the Shariah to be divine. But the only thing that can legitimately be described as divine in Islam is the Quran. The Shariah is a human construction; an attempt to understand the divine will in a particular context. It is juristic law based on the interpretation of the teachings of the Quran and Sunnah at a particular time in history. It was formulated during the Abbassid period and reflects the concerns, the morality and the social circumstances of the period. This is why the bulk of the Shariah actually consists of fiqh or jurisprudence, which is nothing more than legal opinion of classical jurists. The very term fiqh was not in vogue before the Abbasid period but when fiqh assumed its systematic legal form, it incorporated three vital aspects of Muslim society of the Abbasid period.
At that juncture, Muslim history was in its expansionist phase, and fiqh incorporated the logic of Muslim imperialism of that time. The fiqh rulings on apostasy, for example, derive not from the Quran but from this logic. Moreover, the world was simple and could easily be divided in black and white: hence, the division of the world into Daral Islam and Daral Harb. Furthermore, because the framers of law were not by this stage the managers of society, the law became merely theory that could not be modified – the framers of the law were unable to see where the faults lay and what aspect of the law needed fresh thinking and reformulation. Thus fiqh, as we know it today, evolved on the basis of a division between those who were governing and set themselves apart from society and those who were framing the law. When we describe the Shariah as divine, we actually provide divine sanctions for the rulings of bygone fiqh.
What this means in reality is that when Muslim countries apply or impose the Shariah, it simply reproduces the conditions of ninth century Arabia. Muslim societies acquire a medieval feel. We can see that in Saudi Arabia, Sudan and Afghanistan under the Taliban. When narrow adherence to fiqh, to the dictates of this or that school of thought, whether it has any relevance to real world or not, becomes the norm, ossification sets in. The Shariah will solve all our problems becomes the common sentiment; and it becomes necessary for a group with vested interest in this notion of the Shariah to preserve its territory, the source of its power and prestige, at all costs. An outmoded body of law is thus equated with the Shariah, and criticism is shunned and outlawed by appealing to its divine nature.
I would argue that one of the most pressing needs of contemporary Muslim societies, bar none, is the reformulation of the Shariah. And this reformulation is already happening. In Morocco, for example, the personal aspects of the Shariah has been totally reformulated, and a new family law, called Moudouana, came onto the statue books on October 10, 2003. It is a product of decades of agitation by women, activists and progressive Muslim scholars. Most importantly, it was produced with the full cooperation of the religious scholars as well as active participation of women. The changes it introduced are noteworthy.
The traditional notion of the husband as head of the family has gone. The family has become the joint responsibility of both spouses. The degrading and debasing language previously used in reference to women has been replaced with gender-sensitive terminology. Women’s marriageable age has been raised from 15 to 18, bringing it on par with that of men. Women and men now have the right to contract their own marriage without the legal approval of a guardian. Women have the right to divorce; and a man’s right to unilateral divorce has been ditched. Verbal divorce has been outlawed. Men now require prior authorisation from a court before they can obtain a divorce. Moreover, husbands are required to pay all monies owed to the wife and children in full before a divorce can be registered. Polygamy has been all but abolished. Men can take second wives only with the full consent of the first wife and only if they can prove, in a court of law, that they can treat them both with absolute justice – an impossible condition.
Moreover, women can claim alimony and can be granted custody of their children even if they remarry. Indeed, a woman can even regain custody of her children if the courts initially ruled in favour of the husband but the husband failed to fulfil his responsibilities. There is also provision for the child to get suitable accommodation consistent with his or her living conditions prior to the parents’ divorce. This requirement is separate from the other alimony obligations, which conventionally consisted of a paltry lump sum. The new law also protects the child’s right to acknowledgement of paternity in cases where the marriage has not been officially registered or the child was born outside wedlock. The new law also requires that husbands and wives share the property acquired during marriage. Husbands and wives can have separate estates but the law makes it possible for the couple to agree, in a document other than the marriage contract, on how to manage and develop assets acquired during marriage.
The traditional tribal custom of favouring male heirs in the sharing of inherited land has also been dropped making it possible for grandchildren on the daughter’s side to inherit from their grandfather, just as the grandchildren on the son’s side. The new Shariah also assigns a key role to the judiciary. Public prosecutors must now be involved in every legal action involving family affairs. New family courts have been set up and a family mutual assistance fund has been established to ensure that the new code is effectively enforced. The reformulated Shariah enshrines the principle that minorities should be allowed to follow their own laws. So Moroccan Jews can be governed by the provisions of the Hebraic Moroccan Family Law. Where Morocco leads, I think, other Muslim countries will follow. Similar attempts are being made in Malaysia, Indonesia and Turkey.
MNA: You are against secularism and freedom of expression beyond a certain extent. Isn’t it a contradiction considering that you have yourself been the major beneficiary?
ZS: It is wrong to say that I am against freedom of expression. Indeed, as a Muslim I believe in total freedom of expression. But I do believe it should be exercised with responsibility and respect towards all others. Moreover, I am not against secularism – I believe that the state should be fair and just to all and neutral in matters of religion. But I am against secularism as an ideology – quite a different thing. As an organised philosophy, secularism has been privileged and has claimed the centre ground, because it has persuaded many of its superior ability to serve the real needs of society. Allegedly, it is the neutral, dispassionate and disinterested outlook which alone is capable of maintaining a peaceful conversation between all the competing voices, factions, interest groups, ideas and ideologies contending in the public space of an increasingly complex and heterogeneous society.
What fits secularism for a dominant role is its trademark: doubt, perpetual doubt that debunks, overturns and interrogates all grand narratives claiming to explain the human condition. The clear implication of secularism is that conviction, convincement of almost any kind, is the product of a closed, unreasoning and potentially irrational, not to say fanatical, mind and hence by implication bad and most certainly a limited and inferior outlook. I do not buy this. And I am against privileging all forms of ideologies. I also believe that religion has an important part to play in the public sphere – in shaping civic society, in debating issues of ethics and morality, in promoting social justice and in holding corrupt politicians and decision-makers accountable.
MNA: In your view, what could be the broad contours of an ideal Muslim society in the modern times?
ZS: Any society that claims to be Muslim must be based on two cardinal concepts of Islam: adl and ilm. It will be a society where social justice is clearly evident in all its manifestations from distribution of wealth to the care and support of the needy, the marginalised and those on the periphery. I will be a knowledge-based society where science and learning, arts and creativity, are openly thriving. It will also be a society where ijma (consensus) and shura (consultation) are highly valued – which to me means it would be a thriving democracy, where there is no place for authoritarianism of any kind. And it will be a society where criticism and self-criticism are the driving forces of progress. For me, this much seems pretty obvious.
MNA: How can Muslims contribute to peace in the modern day world?
ZS: Charity begins at home. By becoming peaceful societies themselves! How can we seek peace elsewhere when peace is so conspicuously absent from our own societies. To become peaceful, Muslim societies have to implement the concepts I have mentioned above.
MNA: Contrary to what you seem to believe and project in your writings, isn’t Sufism the only ray of hope in these dark times, especially if we take into account the Indian subcontinent’s history?
ZS: No. I do not believe that a single way of being Muslim can be a ray of light for all Muslims. As a human community, Muslims have all shades of opinions and views, numerous different ways of being, doing and knowing. I believe in diversity and different and diverse ways of being Muslim, according to the desires, visions and spiritual and material needs of a people. There is immense goodness in Sufism; but it is also an authoritarian system. The very fact that you submit to a Master or a Shaikh means it is hierarchal and patriarchal. Moreover, while mysticism has contributed to thought, philosophy and spirituality, it has never, in history, created a material civilisation. We can’t live by spirituality alone! I have no problem with those who chose the Sufi way. But others should be allowed to follow their own way.
MNA: Is The Satanic Verses really an outcome of secularism as you seem to believe? Salman Rushdie criticises the Iranian ‘revolution’ in his own style, while you do that in your own, especially in Desperately Seeking Paradise: Journeys of a Sceptical Muslim. Then why such an opposition to Rushdie, especially if we take into account the fact that there are many books criticising Islam much more explicitly, ranging from Ibn Warraq’s Why I am not a Muslim to Robert Spencer’s Politically Incorrect Guide to Islam?
ZS: Yes, The Satanic Verses is a product of secularism based on perpetual doubt. I think doubt, as Al-Ghazaali pointed out, is essential for those who believe – it ensures you do not transcend the human and humane boundaries. But when doubt becomes all there is, then it becomes an oppressive, all-encompassing ideology. There are different ways to criticise. I criticise to reform and change Muslim behaviour and understanding of Islam. Rushdie criticises Islam to destroy it. The Satanic Verses has deliberately rewritten the seerah in a denigrating and abusive way to demonstrate that the life of the Prophet is only a myth; and like all myths it is dispensable. I cannot believe any believing Muslim would not object to this. But there are also other differences in our criticism. You can criticise Desperately Seeking Paradise any way you like: I may or may not accept your criticism, but I will not suggest that, because you are critical of my book, you are somehow an irrational barbarian.
The Rushdie affair had no place for reasoned Muslim opinion. It was structured on the assumption that those who question or criticise Rushdie’s right to say what he said are by definition barbarians. Thus, the only valid Muslim opinion was the extremist one; and only Muslim voices that could be heard were of those who supported the fatwa. This dynamic justified the perception that Islam represented, in Rushdie’s words, “the darkness of religion”. To add insult to injury, we were told that Muslims knew nothing about art, and even less about fiction. Ibn Warraq and Robert Spencer are islamophobes – their criticism is firmly aimed at representing it as a barbarian enterprise and promoting hatred of Muslims. They, like Rushdie, have another agenda: to promote the supremacy of America. They seek to project America as a loving and caring imperial power. There is a world of difference between them and me.

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