THE WAY IT WAS: Two chairs for democracy! —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
In the good old days people on horses, elephants or palanquins used to be
arrayed on one side and the commoners on foot huddled together on the opposite
side. Everyone knew who was who, what was his station and where he stood. There
was martial law or just the law. The generals were either in or out
A visitor to Delhi can buy miniature paintings for a paltry sum. They are
skilfully executed but a jumble of images lifted from various regional schools.
It is a bit like the dish that in the Indian cuisine is called Thali. The Thali
consists of several small metal bowls on a circular platter. The bowls contain
vegetables and lintels. Thali can be had with plain phulkas but is generally
preferred with deep fried puri. It includes a bit of everything but nothing
substantial that can be relished on its own. It is a bit like the Mixed Grill
for the carnivorous breed.
The miniatures up for sale in the craft shops are cooked up in a similar vein.
You may find on a single sheet of paper a Rajput prince with a royal Mughal
turban, dallying with a Pahari lady from the Punjab hills while Deccani maidens
from Golconda and Ahmednagar prance about. The motley cast of human characters
is surrounded by palms and fruiting trees, flowering vines, exotic birds and
animals, also taken from different regional schools. These miniatures may appear
pleasing at an indifferent glance, like most well-crafted object sold at
airports, but are devoid of any real substance to chew upon. Every human, bird,
bush and beast must hate living in it.
The comparison may not be funny but I am afraid our country is beginning to
resemble a miniature executed in the same spirit. Let us study its forms and
colours. Our picture shows whimsical conceits arranged in an unbalanced
composition. The assembly of characters picked by the artist makes little sense
to a dispassionate observer — politically or aesthetically. They are a motley
crowd of rakshasas. There is a long train of pilgrims on their way not to
Chaucer’s Canterbury but the GHQ. There is confusion all round. The terrorists
are being chased, rockets launched, neighbourhoods bombed, criminals deified,
law defiled and the opposition exiled. In the good old days people on horses,
elephants or palanquins used to be arrayed on one side and the commoners on foot
huddled together on the opposite side. Everyone knew who was who, what was his
station and where he stood. There was martial law or just the law. The generals
were either in or out. Now everything has been hybridised. You have generals in
the cabinet, generals in the Senate, generals as governors, generals as
ambassadors, generals as vice chancellors and many more generals. There are
generals refusing to retire.
At the same time the politicians throng the space as never before. Generals
adore them; politicians suck up as never before. Jointly they have civilised,
stabilised and democratised the system. We have the best of who and what we
want. Making laws is like ordering drinks in a pub. To dispense with the
annoying political parties, democracy has been established at the grassroots
level. The politicians who can agree on a common symbol can now be entrusted
with the real tasks of running democracy. Democracy and the country are no
longer at risk.
Every thing is doing so well now. The Official Jester, reeking of bad breath,
can of course dilate on these achievements better than I. If some natives are
restless and beating war-drums in remote places it does not matter. The fact is
the whole world is ours. So what if we are hungry or without a job or don’t
have a footpath to sleep on? But to continue with what I was saying, we have a
splendid system going. Take it or leave it. The Great Thumb is on people’s
pulse, ninety-six percent of them. Those who usurped Q from the Quaid have
already told us that the Quaid should have learnt to dress better. A
well-pressed khaki shirt and trouser looks so much better than a shabby shalwar
and achkan. Actually the Quaid had a fundamental drawback in that he was frail
and a mere politician. The way the system has been put in place is amazing. The
political parties are all out and Q has a majority in the Assembly.
Hazard a guess how would all this look in a painting? Hell of a jumble.
Everything is so unpredictable. You can mouth a promise and because of the
shifting shadows retract it the next hour. The only unambiguous element in the
miniature is as to who should be seated in the centre chair. Seated, not in one
but in two chairs; wearing not one but two robes; accompanied by three brides,
one short and portly, the second slim and tall, the third prettiest of them all.
What I fail to understand is why anyone should want to sit in two armed chairs?
Sitting in two armless ones may have been at least less painful.
Talking of chairs reminds me of Prof Sirajuddin. He was principal of Government
College, Lahore, when a visitor was ushered into his office and introduced
himself as a former student. Prof Siraj was bending over a file at the moment,
writing a note. Without lifting his head, he courteously asked the visitor to
take a chair and continued writing. After a short pause the visitor, wondering
why the principal had not taken better notice of him, added: “Sir, when I left
College I took the CSS examination. I have now become a deputy commissioner”.
At which, Professor Siraj, once again without looking up, rejoined: “In that
case, please have another seat.” Those were the good days. Try saying that to
a DCO today. He will ask for the third chair.
Presuming that the viewer is not a ‘pseudo- intellectual’ and willing to
surrender his sense of disbelief there is a lot that a contemporary political
picture can offer — like the Delhi miniatures — in terms of humour, tears
and a sense of the ridiculous, as well as a gross sense of the romantic. There
is this tall Sohni from Gujrat who in spite of passing the screen test
couldn’t be cast in the movie because she mumbled and no one understood what
she said. Now she is saying bad things about the fair Heer from Jhang. Wasn’t
it Kaidu who was designated by the poet to spread rumours against her? In any
case, what is Heer — who belongs to a different tale — doing with Sohni? Was
it nice for Heer to so blatantly abandon her Ranjhan and succumb to her dark
‘interior’ longings? The silly Sohni, still carrying a kacha khaki pot on
her head, will never learn.
There are many other characters worthy of mention. A Rao who looked so elegant
riding a camel is lost from the view in the belly of a tank. There are men of
notes and goats with bags of dollar notes, and magicians who forge politicians.
Pirates who play with loaded dice and toss coins in the air with rules like
Heads they win, Tails you lose. Play if you like, otherwise out you go. Before I
sign off this painting let me talk of Sassi pining abroad, with her Punnu
incarcerated by Islamabad. In the past Sassi was buried in sand; today, she may
be reborn again.
Considering that Two Chairs may hurt and Two Shirts be too tight, why not make
up with everybody and ask for a cushion and sit upright in a single chair?
Failing that one can only say: “Two Chairs for Democracy!”
Prof Ijaz-ul-Hassan is a painter, author and political activist