A decade in Toronto - 17

At the Toronto Reference Library for the Cosmopolis Toronto project

Photographer Colin Boyd Shafer launched the Cosmopolis Toronto project in August 2013. I heard of it on Facebook. And wrote to Colin who had this crazy ambition of photographing an individual from every ethnicity that had made Toronto home. That was one staggering project, both in the immensity of its scope and its execution. I believe by the time the project ended a couple of years later, he had managed to photograph individuals from 200+ different countries who were now Torontonians.  

Colin wanted everyone who was interested in participating in the project to explain why they’d chosen Toronto as their new home. My answer was simple: Toronto is cosmopolitan; it's vibrant, encourages enterprise, is tolerant, accommodative and gives everyone a chance to live their dream – our hometown Bombay (Mumbai) once shared these characteristics. Toronto is home because it has welcomed me, accepted me, helped me create a space for myself as a writer.

Colin responded immediately and accepted me as a part of the project. The subject had the choice of selecting the venue where s/he wanted to be photographed. I choose the Toronto Reference Library, because “Toronto gave me the opportunity to become a writer. While I was a journalist and a communications person for many years in India, in Toronto I wrote fiction for the very first time in my life.” The subject was to also choose something that linked them to their past. I choose a photograph of Eros Theatre from the 1950s.  

At the photo shoot at the Toronto Reference Library, Colin instructed me that I wasn’t allowed to smile. The photo is still on the site. You may see it here: Cosmopolis Toronto Website. Then, a couple of months later, he arranged for a video shoot where he interviewed some of the participants. I was among the handpicked few to be interviewed, asked to explain my two home cities – Bombay and Toronto. It was an interesting experience. You may see the short interview here: Cosmopolis Toronto YouTube.

The project went on to acquire larger dimensions and became a part of Myseum Toronto and the photographs were exhibited in all Toronto libraries. In 2015, Colin finally produced a book Cosmopolis Toronto: The World in One City. It was launched at a glittering event at the Toronto Reference Library. Colin has kept himself busy with other interesting projects after Cosmopolis Toronto.

At the video shoot of Cosmopolis Toronto

Cosmopolis Toronto was one of the most interesting projects in which I participated. I’ve blogged about it on a few occasions. If you’re interested in reading about it (which is highly unlikely) you may click here:

Cosmopolis Toronto

The World in One City

Also in 2013, MG Vassanji and Nurjehan Aziz involved me in the third edition of the Festival of South Asian Literature and the Arts. It was one of the best in a short-lived series. MG Vassanji and Nurjehan Aziz did everything to make the festival truly global in its content. FSALA was “a Canadian arts festival with a difference, promoting writers from South Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean, and those not writing in English, who though major figures in their own countries are not always known to the global ‘mainstream’."

If the previous edition had Girish Karnad and Mahesh Dattani, this edition had Selina Hossain, the Bangladeshi author and Prasanna Vithanage, the Sri Lankan filmmaker, whose Oba Nathuwa Oba Ekka (With You Without You) was shown at the festival. It was the first time I saw Anjali Patil, who has since gone on to become a known face in Indian cinema. I also met Sharankumar Limbale, a Dalit author of global repute.  I translated one of the short pieces that he read at the festival from Marathi into English and posted it on this blog. It’s been one of the most accessed blog posts.

Read the translated piece: Sharankumar Limbale

There were others, too, and the line-up included globally renowned authors. What I remember the most of the festival was how I was to get Selina Hossain from the airport and both of us spent two hours at the airport without meeting each other. Finally, she took a cab, reached the hotel, and was justifiably upset when I met her later that evening. But she granted me a great interview that I posted here.

Read the interview: Selina Hossain

In 2013, Mahesh Dattani, unarguably the only Indian playwright in English who has acquired global fame, visited Toronto. There were seminars in his honour, staging and reading of his plays. Towards the conclusion of his hour-long talk, Mahesh said he feels most connected to three of his creations – Dancing Like a Man (1989), Morning Raga (2004), and Where did I leave my Purdah (2013) - these creations encompass his love for dance, music and theatre.

With Mahesh Dattani

“They form my triptych,” he said.

Overcoming my general reticence, I said the plays that really form his triptych, plays that he will really be remembered for are Final Solutions (1993), On a Muggy Night in Mumbai (1998), Seven Steps Round The Fire (1998) all of which evocatively deal with the issue of minorities (religion, sexual orientation, gender).

Mahesh admitted he hadn’t really thought of them as such, but agreed that they do form a unit.

Harishchandra's biography in Polish

In 2013, Aleksandra Skiba a librarian at Pomeranian Library (The Central Library of the West Pomeranian Province) in the Polish city of Szczecin sent me an email inquiring about my grandfather Harischandra Bhatt, an eminent poet in Gujarati. She was researching Wanda Dynowska – Umadevi and Maurycy Frydman – Bharatanda, and came across references to Harischandra.

Intrigued, she wrote to me to find out more but ended up giving me more information about my grandfather than I’d known. Umadevi, who was Harischandra’s creative collaborator for a brief period, claims that Harischandra was in love with a young Christian woman and even wrote a poem on Jesus Christ for her.

It’d be pointless to recap the content of the two blogs – one of which is a guest post by Aleksandra. But I do urge you to read them.

Rediscovering a Poet

To look for something and to find the other

Dalit literature & Dalit writer: Sharankumar Limbale

Sharan Limbale (extreme left) with Sadhu Binning, Meena Chopra, Humaria Rahman and Arun Prabha Mukherjee; These writers along with Valerie Joan Tagwira (from Zimbabwe who is not in the photograph.) participated in a session on One World, One English, the Many Languages of the Imagination 
at the Toronto Festival of Literature and the Arts 

By Sharankumar Limbale

Limbale is a prominent Dalit author, poet and literary critic. The following is an edited version of the paper he read at the Festival of South Asian Literature and the Arts’ session on One World, One English, the Many Languages of Imagination.

I

 am an Indian Dalit writer. I have written 35 books in Marathi, three of which have been translated into English. I started writing in 1982 and for the last 30 years I have been writing on the problems of Dalits.

I am an activist writer. I am committed to my movement that was started by Dr. BR Ambedkar to emancipate India’s Dalits. This movement is an integral part of my being. Without the movement, I cannot write.  The movement is an ink for me. My literature is the literature of protest because of my commitment to the Dalit movement and the inspiration of Dr. Babasaheb  Ambedkar’s thoughts.

I never have and never will write for entertainment. I am a writer of people. How can I forget problems of my people? How can I neglect the cry of my people? The unrest of my people charges me – to think and to write. Dalit literature is not the literature of imaginations. It is a literature of atrocities inflicted on the Dalits by high caste Hindus.

Dalit writer’s objective is to explain to people his own pain, problems and questions. We are educated and we know the roots of exploitation of our community. If we stay quiet, it would be crime against humanity and crime against our movement. It is our birthright to protest against inhumanity.

For me and for other Dalit writers, writing is a form of rebellion. Our protest is both on the streets and on paper. My words are my weapons. For me, struggle is the paper and people are the contents. Literature is Parliament for me where I want to discuss my rights and demands, which have been neglected for thousands of years.  

When I wrote my first poem, I wasn’t aware of the form and content of literature. Like me, many Dalit writers didn’t know the features of literature. We didn’t know the meaning of writing. We wrote because we wanted to share our pains with others, share our sorrows, depict the atrocities we face, share and our problems with the people and ask them to recognize us as human beings.

Our readers were shocked by our words. For them our experience was new and bitter, and our tongue was very rude. This was a new, strange and shocking experience for the middle class readers. Dalit literature is the mirror of the caste society. The traditional reader of the literature is shocked by this literature. It is through Dalit literature that the reader became aware of the social reality and inequality.

Not surprisingly, the traditional reader didn’t enjoy literature, at least initially. After all, how anyone can enjoy atrocities? How anyone can enjoy the pains and pangs of others? The traditional reader wants to enjoy the arts and literature. However, Dalit literature is radically different. There is a conflict between the author and reader.

Dalit literature creates huge social tension. This is the tension between haves and have-nots. The haves asked to the Dalit writer not to write this type of literature, because it would lead to tension and division in the community. The have-nots ask the Dalit writer to write about their honest and noble struggle for equality, justice and freedom.

Not surprisingly, in the initial phase of Dalit literature, the mainstream literary critics questioned the very basis of Dalit literature. They asked in all seriousness: Can Dalits write literature? Can Dalit be subject of literature? They attacked Dalit literature saying that the dirty experiences of Dalit life would spoil the literary mainstream.

Their contention was that Dalit literature is not literature. According to them, “It was the drainage of dirty water;” it was slang literature. It had to be stopped otherwise it would harm the religious feelings of the higher castes.

We didn’t care for such allegations. We didn’t stop writing. For us, it was very simple to write in our own language and write about the tragedy of our life. And by writing the way we did, we changed the definition of writing and the writer.

Dalit literature’s distinct language, its revolutionary ideology, its aggressive character, its refusal to quietly accept inequality, and the human values ingrained in it has led to many proponents and opponents of Dalit literature.

Dalits haven’t been portrayed truthfully or with fairness right from the time of Hindu religious literature to contemporary Indian literature.  As a Dalit writer, I reject this alienating literary tradition.

I

 am often asked about the future of the Dalit literature. I find this ironic because we are worried about our future and our critics are worried about our literature. Dalit literature is a response to the exploitation and the humiliation of the Dalits, and as that is unlikely to end soon, Dalit literature will flourish.

Whenever there is inhumanity and discrimination in the world, then there will be Dalit literature. Dalit literature has expanded the horizon of Indian literature and criticism and transformed people’s preferences. Dalit literature has awakened many new social strata and made new literary contributions.

Equality, freedom and social justice are the basis of Dalit literature. Dalits have been deprived of these. These people were silent and mute in the history. The Hindu philosophy and ideology is based on inequality. The Hindu religion, Hindu Gods, Hindu culture and Hindu social fabric deny equality, justice and freedom to Dalits.

For thousands of years Dalits politely served the high caste society. It was the destiny of Dalit people. They never revolted against God, religion and social structure. They believe that this was the way of life for them.

Dalit has been humiliated and exploited for thousands of years. Dalit is rejected by high caste as human. The touch of Dalit, the shadow of Dalit and the voice of Dalit treated as impure. Dalit lived out of village, out of city and in separate sections. Dalit cannot enter in the temple of high caste. Dalit cannot drink water on the river bank of high caste. Dalit cannot cremate the dead body in the graveyard of high caste. Dalit cannot marry, cannot eat, and cannot live with the high caste. He was only slave. He had no rights.

After independence and thanks to the revolutionary movement of Dr. Ambedkar, Dalits became aware of their self-respect and equality. Now, the Indian caste system is changing but not fast enough. The speed of social change is very slow, but there is change.

Over the years, Dalit literature has been able to break down barriers, overcome opposition and gain acceptance and popularity. Why is Dalit literature so popular? Why it is well received by readers? What is the cause of Dalit literature?

The answers to these questions are straightforward: Dalit literature is the rebel against exploitation and humiliation. A common man is the hero of this literature. He revolts against the inhuman oppression. He wins in his struggle of self-respect. This is the real beauty of this literature.

Irrelevant of caste, class and colour, the reader loves the brave tongue and gets motivation from the struggle of common man. The common man becomes searchlight for him to find way of life. I believe, the common man is brave and faithful. Dalit literature gives this message to the readers.

If you want to understand the literature of movement, if you want to learn struggle of emancipation, if you want to listen the cry for humanity, I think, you have to read Dalit literature. It is the literature of life.

Here are some lines from a poem:

The church bell rang

Everyone entered in

The ajan heard from mosque

Everyone entered in

The bell of temple rang

Some entered in

And some stood out.

Photo: Basharat Mirza

Hindu - a novel

Before he is murdered, Tatya Kamble, the main character of Sharankumar Limbale’s Marathi language novel Hindu, says, 

“Why do we stay in a religion that does not allow you to enter the temple? Why do you stay in a religion that does not acknowledge your humanity? Why do you stay in a religion that does not allow you even water? A religion that forbids the treatment of humans as humans is not a religion but naked domination. A religion in which touching of unclean animals is permitted but touching of humans prohibited is not a religion but insanity. A religion that tells a group of human beings to not get education, not amass wealth, not carry arms is not a religion but a mockery of human values.”

Arun Prabha Mukherjee’s English translation of Limbale’s novel succeeds quite effortlessly in bringing the reader uncomfortably close to the exploitation that the Dalits of India face every day. It is a remarkable achievement because Limbale’s novel doesn’t follow a linear narrative, it’s a pointillist quilt that darts into different directions. It paints a grim picture of murder and injustice.

Limbale is a prominent Dalit writer and is an activist and his writing is dry and unsentimental. It’s not surprising that Hindu is unrelenting. The novel is set in rural Maharashtra – in Achalpur, but it portrays all that is wrong in India – a country that now boasts of nearly 50 billionaires but despite all the talk of double digit growth and development and prosperity, a majority of the population continue to be denied basic human rights. And this is institutionalised, without any effort to change the status quo.

Mihir Sharma, writing in India’s Business Standard, on Dr. Ambedkar’s birth anniversary (14 April) this year, gave a good perspective to the untrammeled domination of the upper castes in the Hindu society.

He says, “The Indian elite confuse its tiny, mediocre, incestuous world of networks and inherited advantage with true merit, the merit that comes from striving upwards in the night when circumstances are unfavourable. India’s privileged children go to schools where their social assumptions are unchallenged, to colleges where their parents went before them and that most of the country can’t afford, and to jobs where the networks fostered in the exclusivity of those institutions support and nourish them... In post-liberalisation India, that isn’t true at all. Our elite dominate our cultural production, as well, helping it dehumanise everyone else.”

Tatya Kamble’s son Rohit and his activist friends circulate a flyer at a community centre which triggers severe tensions in Achalpur:

“We wanted to convert to Buddhism. We still do. However, converting to a religion related to Indian culture brings about no change in our status in the eyes of the Hindus. It is for that reason that we are converting to a foreign origin religion. It is only then perhaps that the mentality to degrade us will change. We are Indians. We look like Indians. India is our motherland. Preventing our conversion means forcing us to continue living in the confines of the Hindu caste system. The Hindu religion that considers us untouchable is not acceptable to us.”

Inevitable?