Back in June 2001, the air was surcharged. Not many had forgotten Kargil. It took but a moment's provocation for people to react with violence. It was Friday, June 15, Plaza cinema in the heart of New Delhi was happy to exhibit a Housefull sign, a rarity even then. Anil Sharma’s “Gadar: Ek Prem Katha” was raking it rich at the box office. Cries of “Jai mata di” rent the air after the screening. The security personnel’s pleas to maintain decorum were ignored and one of the men blurted out, “Jai mata di”, adding, “Ajee saare jahan se achcha Hindustan hamara…maaro…Pakistaniyon ko.” Pakistani then, as now, is a poor euphemism for Muslims.
Stunned, I retorted, “Do you know who wrote ‘Saare jahan se achcha’?” There was stunned silence. “It was Mohammad Iqbal,” I said in a tone considerably mellower. The crowd dispersed with some mumbling, “Jo bhi ho, ‘Saare jahan se achcha Hindustan hamara’ likha to ek Hindustani ne hi hai”. A little under a hundred years after the composition of 1904, Sir Muhammad Iqbal helped calm frayed nerves.
That Plaza experience comes back to haunt me every now and then in these days of monopoly over nationalism. So when an opportunity arose to apprise myself with the life of Iqbal through the eyes of Allah Baksh, more of a subaltern view about a legendary poet who is usually seen through the prism of intellectuals, I could not say no. The play “Sir Iqbal”, a joint venture of noted director-playwright Danish Iqbal and popular actor-director Sayeed Alam played to middling crowd over the weekend. A society that often revels in division could do worse than watching this delightful play replete with messages that had to be read between the lines, and a narrative that picked up just when it threatened to meander. In Vishnu Sharma, as Allah Baksh, it had a narrator who breathed life and soul into the play. Sitting in the right corner of the stage, his body nice and loose, his impeccable voice modulation bringing to the audience the scent of Punjab, Sharma time and again stole the thunder. His little guffaws, his frequent drawls, his voice alternately loud and soft, had a mesmerising impact on the audience.
As for the play, well, the writers undertake a difficult task. In the world of “Shikwa” and “Jawab-e-Shikwa”, there is little that is unknown about Iqbal. Yet Iqbal and Alam bring to stage the man in life and blood, a man with foibles of his own, not to forget his idiosyncrasies. Hailing from a Punjabi family where a father was supposed to be keeping a distance from his son, Sir Iqbal came into his own in Europe, and interestingly, discovered Islam in the West! Rather cruelly, he has been apportioned among people according to their predilections. Some hail his poetry that often stems from the message of the Quran; back a century ago when he penned “Shikwa” there was an uproar in society which was calmed only when “Jawab-e-Shikwa” came out a little later. Today, most forget his message about Shri Ram being Imam-e-Hind or his take on Gayatri mantra. Fortunately, Iqbal and Alam did not, and were careful enough to include the import of his words in the play in these divisive times. Maybe, a little bit about Naya Shivala wherein he asked the Muslim nations to unite with Indian Hindus would have added another layer.
Iqbal on stage
But that could well be nit-picking. For all its little bumps and jerks, “Sir Iqbal” deserves a careful scrutiny, and maybe a repeat visit. Iqbal, the poet, is often a prisoner of whimsical interpretation. Iqbal, the Indian patriot, is forgotten in a mess of history. But Iqbal on stage will do just fine. More so when seasoned Alam brings all his years of craft and guile to sketch the lead character, and he is given an able hand by most of his co-actors. Then, of course, there is Vishnu Sharma, a man who merits attention when quiet, and commands it when he decides to add value to the proceedings with speech. “Sir Iqbal” is prescribed for all Sirs and Ma'ams, and the common man on the street often drunk on frenzied notions of patriotism these days.
