4 January
I sit out in the sun every afternoon, often simply staring blankly at the trees. It’s a familiar scene, the sad tale of my empty days. Today, I was speaking to Sheela Reddy, narrating to her my conversation with Tapan Raychaudhuri. It was not as if I volunteered all the information. Sheela too asked me, about how things were going, about what I was doing or thinking. She advised me, ‘You must tell him to help you. Even if you can’t be sent back to Kolkata, you should at least be allowed to have a normal life in Delhi. He must speak to Mr B about this.’
Sheela also asked me to call Shyam Benegal and request a meeting with him. I have never been very comfortable calling up famous people, especially if I am not on very friendly terms with them. Sheela, though, is much like a clever psychoanalyst; she has me completely in her thrall. Whatever she says, I do, sometimes even when I don’t want to. If I don’t call Mr Benegal, Sheela will tell me that I do not really wish to extricate myself from my predicament, and this explains why I do not try. Previously, whenever I have ignored her advice, this has happened. The day after the advice is given, she usually calls to check if and how much I have acted on it.
I could not reach Mr Benegal. He called me back later from Mumbai and I thanked him for signing the petition. He would only be back in Delhi around the middle of February, so we are probably not going to be able to meet at least for now. I would have to content with meeting my friends and well-wishers. At least, it gladdens me that he has been sensitive enough to spare me some thought! He has assured me that he will talk to someone from the government; he has even said he will let me know by tomorrow. Even M.A. Baby had promised to let me know but he still has not gotten to it. It is as if there is nothing left to inform me about, no assurances or hopes to give.
Whether Shyam Benegal lets me know or not, he will always remain my favourite director in Indian cinema. My respect for him will remain the same.
5 January
I have written two poems today, after a very long time. Gautam Ghosh Dastidar had sent me an email from Kolkata requesting poems for his independent magazine Rakta–Mangsha (Flesh and Blood). These days I cannot seem to write unless someone has asked for something. Only if there is a request, I can get some writing done. I started crying while writing the poems. I kept crying, and kept writing. ‘Long live democracy!’ ‘Has a poet ever been incarcerated?’
6 January
Bangladesh is possibly a forgotten name for me now. It is only alive in my memories, both happy and sad. I cannot imagine that my parents are no longer in Bangladesh, that their houses lie abandoned. I cannot muster up the courage to face these thoughts and so I don’t. Whenever such thoughts trouble me, I force them aside. I feel so empty sometimes, so alone that it becomes impossible to endure. Which is why I never think of the absence of my parents. I constantly strive to forget it.
Something strange happened today. I was on Google in the morning, sifting through new information about myself, when I chanced upon an article in the Daily Star on K.M. Sobhan. The writer had mentioned that Sobhan had stood beside Taslima in her hour of need. The past tense immediately put me on edge. Did that mean Justice Sobhan was no longer there by my side?
Soon after, I received a call from Kolkata telling me about an article by Justice Sobhan which has been published in Dainik Statesman. K.M. Sobhan, former judge of the Supreme Court of Bangladesh, passed away last Monday. This was his last article. The last thing he wrote was about me. The thought sat heavily on my heart and I could not speak through the grief clogging my throat. K.M. Sobhan had been one of the few intellectuals in Bangladesh who had taken my side.
In the article he has said, ‘The fact that Bangladesh could not hold on to Taslima Nasrin will be a thing of enduring shame for all Bengalis. Bangladesh had failed to secure this Bengali writer her constitutional rights . . . and the Left Front government had chosen to compromise and bow down to the fundamentalists.’
Sometimes I feel so angry that I have wasted so much time on useless things when I could have used it to keep in touch with these people. I call so many people around the world, why did I never find the time to call K.M. Sobhan? He would have felt happy too. Who am I so angry with? People like him have been steadfast in their support of me, even though they had no power of their own to get me back to Bangladesh. Shamsur Rahman too is no more and neither is Wahidur Rahman. Wahidur Rahman had been very fond of me. I have heard he used to speak of me often, and his last article for Janakantha (Voice of the People) had been about me. I cannot hold back my tears when I get to know these things. The Government of Bangladesh has forcefully alienated me from such generous and kind people; its filthy politics has deprived me of their love and affection.
There is nothing but a vacuum all around. Zillur Rahman Siddiqui, Khan Sarwar Murshid, Kalim Sharafi, they have all gotten on in age. I often feel very anxious about when they will not be around any more. Even now, we are separated by thousands of miles. I keep remembering Samim Sikdar, Ruby Rahman and Ferdousi Priyabhashini. Does anyone understand how much I want to go back? Does anyone care why I cannot? Sometimes I wonder why I left the country. If death had been my fate, it could gladly have happened in Bangladesh. All these years, as I have wandered from one country to another, have I died any less?
These people were forever by my side in Bangladesh. In Kolkata, there was Annada Shankar Roy, who is no longer among us. Shibnarayan Ray too has been steadfast in his support, as has been Amlan Dutta. Most of the people here have gotten on in age and I fear without them I would be quite alone. There would be no one left in the world to take my side. I have noticed that younger or middle-aged people do not understand what I try to say as much as the seniors do. Not that seniority is a big factor. One has to have the sensitivity to want to understand.
I am completely alone. I have had to live away from my parents, and my family, from those who love and care for me, not out of any choice of my own. These thoughts threaten to suffocate me.
If only I could go back to Bangladesh, by whatever means necessary! Sometimes I feel like telling Mr B to make arrangements to send me home. I am sure he has wonderful connections with the government there. Anyway, relations between India and Bangladesh ought to be quite cordial now considering India’s recent financial aid of 100 crore rupees to Bangladesh after the devastating floods there. If only Mr B would take some sort of an initiative to convince Sheikh Hasina to withdraw the cases against me and provide me security! I could go back home, I could spend the rest of my life there! My mother dreamt that I would return home one day. I want to make that dream a reality, though I have never been able to fulfil any of her wishes while she was alive. Do I not dream of returning home? But I hide these unfulfilled dreams in the deepest, darkest recesses of my heart, not allowing them to come out and taunt me. As a result, the life I lead is perhaps not a real one.
7 January
Information and Broadcasting Minister Priya Ranjan Dasmunsi’s angry comments against me were being telecast across TV channels all day yesterday. He is very angry with me, apparently because I have criticized Islam. This is India, transgressions like these are not allowed here! So he has asked me to apologize publicly, with folded hands, to all Muslims, for everything I have said till date against their religion. He has added that I should also remove everything I have written about religion from my book; in fact, he is of the opinion that the book itself should be banned. This is India. One must not speak about religion if one wishes to live here.
Mr Dasmunsi had publicly condemned the attacks on me in Hyderabad. In fact, he had even assured everyone after the incident that the Centre would seriously consider giving me citizenship. His words had made it seem that the decision had already been taken and that we were simply waiting for the formal announcement.
Does Mr Dasmunsi believe in Islam? If he truly did, he would probably have converted by now. He believes in Hinduism probably, or he does not believe in any religion. I am sure he is aware that I have already deleted sections
from Dwikhandito; that I have expressed my regret regarding any sentiments I may have hurt. So, what has brought on this new wave of ire? Rumour has it that he is reacting thus to secure Muslim votes. Is it so easy to give up on one’s ethics and principles for the sake of electoral politics? If that leads to triumph, does such a victory bring joy? I mention ethics and principles simply because every democracy has a set of moral codes inherent in it. Everyone has a right to speak, and if one does not like what someone else has to say, one can always furnish a counterargument. Under no circumstances can violence be justified. Why bay for someone’s blood? Why raise hell on the streets? Why set things ablaze and harm innocent people? Isn’t that why he spoke out against the barbaric incident in Hyderabad on 9 August? That day, after his bold statement, he had seemed truly human, someone who was not afraid of speaking his mind. Anything he is saying now, regarding me getting down on my knees and apologizing, is because the politician has taken over from the human being. The two sides of Mr Dasmunsi are quite clearly different entities; the politician persona and the human persona seemingly mutually exclusive.
If I had been two decades younger, I would have expressed my regret for them. Now the regret is entirely for me, and my misfortunes. I was born in a simple family, was raised simply, and have lived simply too. How can someone like me become an object of political games? How can that happen in a country like India? No, I refuse to be such an object. Just like I do not deserve the excessive praise that is sometimes heaped on me, neither do I deserve the excessive censure.
Today, after Mr Dasmunsi’s comments were aired, the channel Times Now declared that I have become an untouchable to all political parties ever since my ouster from Kolkata. That is perhaps true. Taslima Nasrin is now an untouchable in this country. I could have returned to Kolkata if there had been considerable public protest against how unjustly I had been treated. However, that is not possible in any country on my behalf. There can be no consensus with regard to me. I am a writer and I don’t belong to a party or an organization. I have lived alone, written solely out of love, and that is how I have survived. As they say, one must care for the heart more than the body. I have always been a harmless and humble person. Some politicians and merchants of religion have used me for their own benefits. That is nothing new though, it is a tale as old as time. Writers have been jailed, they have been killed, but has anyone ever had to suffer such indignity? The fortunes of an exiled writer can turn with the rise and fall of governments. My exile is enduring; it has no end in sight.
Shankha Ghosh called and I got excited thinking there would be some good news. However, he had simply called to talk about ‘Banished Without and Within’, which someone wishes to translate and publish in an independent Bengali journal. There is no good news for me any more. M.A. Baby did not call and neither did Shyam Benegal. And Shankha Ghosh has nothing hopeful to tell me. If he so wishes, can he not speak to Buddhadeb Bhattacharya about me? Of course, he can. Maybe he feels it will amount to nothing! But how can one be so certain? It might just work!
I am growing more anxious as days pass by. Gradually, returning to Kolkata seems ever more impossible. With time, the political games around me are increasing.
8 January
An article criticizing Priya Ranjan Dasmunsi’s demands, titled ‘Writer Blocked’, has been published in the editorial column of Times of India. The article ends thus:
The problem with such a political strategy is that the more one appeases fundamentalists, thinking their point of view to be representative of a community, the more demands they’ll raise. And the more powerful they’ll become, once they are seen to be effective in translating their views into state policy.
A secular state has to draw the line somewhere, otherwise it will give rise to a game of competitive fundamentalism that will damage the nation’s multicultural fabric. Moreover, a democracy cannot stifle individual dissent. An individual, after all, is the smallest minority. It’s on his defence that democracy rests. When calling on Taslima to bend and scrape before religious authorities, it’s these democratic basics that the good information and broadcasting minister appears to have lost sight of.
I saw on the news today that the Congress has condoned Mr Dasmunsi’s remarks. Their spokesperson has issued a statement to the effect that Priya Ranjan’s demands are entirely justified and that I should definitely apologize to all Muslims.
Is there anything more horrific?
The BJP have now started demanding unconditional apologies from Sonia Gandhi and Manmohan Singh for their comments on the Ram-setu issue. Apparently, comments like ‘Ram was not a real person’ and ‘Ram was a figment of the poet’s imagination’ have hurt the religious sentiments of the Hindus. Of course, why should apologies apply only in the case of one community and not for others! If one community can get offended by something, so can another.
I am astoundingly stupid, and an irredeemable ass. I have been driven from one nation to another in search of a home. I had tried settling in Bengal, tried building a small life of my own, and had spent most of it in solitude. Now I have been reduced to a pawn in their political games. I am so afraid that I cannot breathe. I sit and tremble, trying to fathom for how long I would have to endure this agony.
9 January
Such incredible things keep happening! Seven Muslim organizations, including the Jamaat-e-Islami and the Jamiat Ulema-e-Hind, have petitioned the government to throw me out of India and cancel my visa. Even Maulana Madani of Jamiat Ulema-e-Hind, who had declared peace after the removal of the offensive sections from Dwikhandito, has now applied himself with renewed vigour to the new movement against me. His colleague Maulana Nomani has gone a step ahead and alleged that I have written offensive things against Hinduism too, and representatives of all religions must form a unified front against the menace that I pose. They will soon approach the prime minister with their demand and on the 16th there is going to be a symposium of all religious communities on the issue.
In Kolkata, the Samajwadi Party has taken to the streets to protest against me. After the incidents of 21 November, Toha Siddiqui of Furfura Sharif had denied all ties with Idris Ali in order to distance his party from any blame that might come their way. Siddiqui had put the entire responsibility of the bandh on Ali, explicitly denying that Furfura Sharif had had anything to do with it. The same Idris Ali has very recently been welcomed back by them. But that should not come as a surprise. The Congress had expelled Idris from their ranks after 21 November. If the leaders of Congress could visit such a crook in prison, if they could welcome him back into their clique, then why should one blame Toha Siddiqui for having reneged on his party’s stance? Recently, Vijay Upadhyay of the Samajwadi Party has been heard viciously attacking me. They have written to the Publishers and Booksellers Guild demanding I be banned from the Kolkata International Book Fair; they have warned of dire consequences if even a single book of mine is sold at the book fair this year. Apparently the detective department is extremely worried about the situation. I had already told Prasanta Roy to make sure my books are not there at the book fair; I do not want to give them an excuse to throw me out again because of another untoward incident.
Sheela Reddy told me, ‘You must be at the book fair! Whatever happens, you must! Will they set things ablaze? Let them! We must not back away. They have been given the licence to do whatever they wish to by these political parties. The time has come for the government to decide where to re-establish boundaries.’
With each passing day I have begun to feel a little more isolated. Things are increasingly not looking well. No one wishes to address the most crucial question: why have I been kept in confinement? The government has been asking me to keep quiet. Anandabazar Patrika could have effectively created public awareness about the issue, but they too have remained quiet. I was depending on Shankha Ghosh to speak on my behalf to the government, but he has asked me to stay quiet for some time. Sheela has told me that I should keep quiet because it’s time other people sp
eak for me instead. Quite obviously, no one else is speaking.
Shyam Benegal had promised to keep me updated but no news has arrived. M.A. Baby had promised to speak to someone within the Congress, but I am not sure where that has led. A close confidant of Mr B used to call quite frequently to know how I was, but those calls too have now stopped. Everything he did was on Mr B’s orders. Does that mean he has been asked to cease all communication with me? Mr B has not informed me of any new developments either. Tapan Raychaudhuri had met him to talk about me and Mr B had assured him that arrangements would be made for my return to Kolkata. Tapan Raychaudhuri is, however, not entirely convinced. He has admitted to me that he does not trust politicians. Sambit Paul from Times Now called and regretfully confessed: ‘I don’t see any hope, didi. We are trying to keep the news alive. But no larger political movement has developed vis-à-vis this issue. We have tried, but we have not been able to consolidate public opinion.’
The only silver lining in all this gloominess has been a piece of news from afar. On the occasion of the birth centenary of Simone de Beauvoir in Paris, I have been awarded the Simone de Beauvoir Prize in recognition of my struggle for attainment of women’s equality and gender justice. I had sent them my statement last night, and Christian Besse translated it into French and read it out to the assembly today, besides accepting the award on my behalf. Besse called me in the evening to tell me all about the thunderous applause I had apparently received, besides the numerous demands for my freedom and security from among those who had gathered.
I remain here, clinging to India because of my love for this land. People elsewhere are honouring me with awards, but their world holds no attraction for me. Who do I keep faith in—those people or this land?
Exile Page 21
