The gulistan that is India
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The Karnataka Urdu Academy celebrated the centenary of Iqbal's poem
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Photo: Murali Kumar K.
EVERGREEN Members of Natya Institute of Kathak and Choreography put up a song and dance show
"Jeeves, I would say to my manservant if I were Bertie Wooster, "What does the poet Iqbal say about India? You remember the song. Saare jahaan se achcha, Hindustan hamara hamara, tumty-tum, tum tum tum tumty-tum."
That's about as far as I can go with the song. Some years ago I mocked the beauty queen who sang it instead of "Jana Gana Mana" when asked for the national anthem, but at least she knew some of the lyrics. How many of you can sing all the stanzas or even go beyond the first line? It was to jog the memory of ignoramuses like me that the Karnataka Urdu Academy celebrated the centenary of the poem to the very day (August 10) at the Ravindra Kalakshetra with a dance interpretation choreographed by doyenne Maya Rao. We were reminded that this was the Taraan-e-Hind, the Song of India. We were reminded that Pandit Ravi Shankar had set it to music in 1935. But the one fact that nobody needed to be reminded of was that Indian cosmonaut Rakesh Sharma had replied to Indira Gandhi, when asked what India looked like from space, "Saare jahaan se achcha." It was an inspired response, which elevated him instantly into the ranks of the immortals.
Rakesh Sharma, grey-haired and balding, was the undisputed hero of the evening. Since more than one speaker at the function had included the Indira Gandhi incident in his prepared speech, the anecdote ended up being related over and over in three different languages. But every single time, when the speaker came to the punch line, the audience applauded. Maya Rao read out her introduction to the performance where she explained the images she had used to illustrate each stanza. In the second stanza, Iqbal says that even while on a journey outside India, our hearts are with our motherland. Rakesh Sharma's famous line came to mind, she said. The audience clapped. Later, during the actual performance, the backdrop for the second stanza was an image of a rocket next to Sharma's face. The audience clapped.
Rakesh Sharma took the Urdu language into space, said the programme compere — to more clapping, of course. The compere, a gracious woman in a turquoise-blue salwar-kameez-dupatta, was a pivotal part of the evening, turning it into a celebration of not only Iqbal but of Urdu. The fragrance of the Urdu zabaan enveloped the audience while they waited 40 minutes for the chief minister to arrive. The compere stood patiently at the mike all the while, treating her listeners to an intermittent flow of verses, statements, apologies and jokes that flowed from her lips like a moonlit fountain. Sample joke: A gathering of men was asked to put up their hands if they were afraid of their wives. All hands went up but one. While the man's bravery was being admired, he explained the reason for his action: "Even to raise my hand I have to ask my wife's permission."
Despite the torrential rain, everybody was in her seat at 6.30 p.m. except the VIPs. While the compere entertained the audience, the mobile phone of a woman in the fifth row sang a tinkly tune. Appropriately enough, it was "Saare Jahan Se Achcha"! We expected the compere to remind us to turn off our phones, but no, she welcomed it. "Why don't we all set our mobiles to this tune until August 15?" she suggested. "In that way, people will get constantly reminded of the song and Iqbal."
At last we could hear the band in the foyer strike up the familiar tune, a sign that the chief guests had arrived. After the trumpets had launched into a couple of verses of the churchly Showers of Blessings, the door was flung open and the dignitaries made a grand entrance that was rendered even grander by the compere's announcement.
There's nothing like the floweriness of Urdu to give one a picture of royalty, and as she extended an elaborate welcome to the Wazir-e-Alam (yes, folks, that the word for chief minister) and the other janabs who had accompanied him, you could imagine caparisoned elephants spraying attar with their trunks.
It was 8.30 p.m. when the dance began. The interpretation of the poem was lively and colourful, though some parts were simplistic. The people loved it.
Forty-five-minutes later, when they walked out into the rain-drenched streets, they carried with them a scented whiff of Iqbal, Urdu, and the gulistan that is India.
C.K. MEENA
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Bangalore
Chennai and Tamil Nadu
Delhi
Hyderabad
Thiruvananthapuram
