[Reader-list] Aadab In A Time Of Allah Hafiz

Thu Jul 14 20:34:38 IST 2011

This is a  very interesting conversation . With everybody's  permission,wanted to shear a  thought .In Kashmir  'adaab' ( aadab arz actually) once the most common amongst the Muslims as well as between Hindu Pandits & Muslims during the good old days gradually  got replaced by  'assalam-walaikum' ( which I learn now should be  'assalamu-alaikum' ) with the rise of militant activism/fundamentalism.The change having become nearly complete back home  dawned upon me when while shooting for a TV serial for DD Kashir a few years ago,the director on being pointed out, was quite amazed to know that 'adaab' as against "assalamu-alaikum" went better with the  kashmiriyat that was being depicted.Clearly the narrative of the script was based on post 1989-90 Kashmir.Rgds allLA--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Date: Thu, 14 Jul 2011 16:44:00 +0530
> From: javedmasoo at gmail.com
> To: ambarien at yahoo.co.uk
> CC: reader-list at sarai.net
> Subject: Re: [Reader-list] Aadab In A Time Of Allah Hafiz
> 
> Dear Ambarien
> I appreciate Samina's thoughts - I fully agree with most things. I
> only pointed out that the culture which taught us aadab and Khuda
> Hafiz also taught us to use "correct" words and pronunciations etc. If
> we can be so particular about our English and other professional
> jargons, why shouldn't we make sure to use the correct words. I only
> said that there is no such thing as "assalam-walekum" - it would mean:
> "peace be - and - upon you". How would it sound if you entered an
> office today and told your boss: "Good and morning"?
> 
> Javed
> 
> On 7/14/11, ambarien qadar <ambarien at yahoo.co.uk> wrote:
> >
> >
> > I don't know what 'any muslim worth his cap means'! I also don't think that
> > it is important to know the difference between 'assalam-walaikum' and
> > 'salaam'. Both to me mean 'may peace be upon you'.Most crucially, why should
> > it be more important to someone born in a muslim home?The article is
> > charting out a very crucial terrain of the transition that has occurred  and
> > we would be fools if we were not to accept it. And perhaps that's why the
> > author chose to use the transition of Aadab to Salaam and left the metaphor
> > open ended for us.And because it was open ended, it let me raise some of my
> > own confusions and doubts.Let us not close the space for dialogue, whatever
> > of it is left, by closing ourselves.thanks, ambarien.
> > --- On Wed, 13/7/11, Javed <javedmasoo at gmail.com> wrote:
> >
> > From: Javed <javedmasoo at gmail.com>
> > Subject: Re: [Reader-list] Aadab In A Time Of Allah Hafiz
> > To: "Ujwala Samarth" <ujwala at openspaceindia.org>, ambarien at yahoo.co.uk
> > Cc: "sarai list" <reader-list at sarai.net>, "Samina Mishra"
> > <saminamishra at gmail.com>
> > Date: Wednesday, 13 July, 2011, 21:39
> >
> > While I enjoyed reading parts of this piece, I am intrigued by one
> > very basic knowledge of the author. (And I know everyone on this list
> > is going to chide me for my being too much of a purist.) While I
> > appreciate her use of Adab and Khuda Hafiz as an inclusive salutation,
> > she continues to write the salam as  “assalam waleikum” which any
> > Muslim worth his cap would know is a faulty word. The correct word is
> > assalamu-alaikum, and there is no "wa" before alaikum. I am amazed
> > that the author grew up as a Muslim in a Muslim family knowing an
> > incorrect word which is a very basic understanding in any Muslim home.
> > In reply to the salam you do say wa-alikum salam, but there is no such
> > thing as salam walekum.
> >
> > "We Muslims" usually make fun of non-Muslims who ignorantly use the
> > word salam walekum, and try to correct them. Most people on this list
> > would say, how rude you are by making fun of this. But I simply ask:
> > how would you react if someone ignorantly (and seriously) said
> > manaskar instead of namaskar or manaste instead of namaste. Won't you
> > try to correct the person?
> >
> > thanks
> >
> > Javed
> >
> > On Tue, Jul 12, 2011 at 11:28 AM, Ujwala Samarth
> > <ujwala at openspaceindia.org> wrote:
> >> Language, especially the words and colloquialisms we use in our everyday
> >> interactions, is a sharp but subtle indicator of changing mores, shifts in
> >> socio-political realities and the collective 'pulse' of a community...In
> >> this article written for *Open Space/CCDS,* Pune, Samina Mishra reflects
> >> on
> >> the trajectory from “adaab” to “asalam waleikum”, from “khuda hafiz” to
> >> “Allah hafiz”,  and on why people feel the need to group around markers of
> >> identities…
> >>
> >> *http://www.openspaceindia.org/express/articles-a-essays/item/749.html
> >> *
> >>
> >> *Aadab In A Time Of Allah Hafiz*
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> Some months ago, I was chastised by a woman for saying “adaab”, instead of
> >> “assalam wa leikum”, the latter being the “the proper Islamic greeting” in
> >> her opinion, to be exchanged between Muslims. I grew up as a Muslim and
> >> learnt to say “adaab” when I met someone and “khuda hafiz” when we parted
> >> ways. Originating from a North Indian Islamicate high culture, “adaab” as
> >> a
> >> form of greeting was imbued with a certain class hierarchy. It was a
> >> familiar greeting even in many elite non-Muslim households in North India,
> >> households that were closely associated with that cultural space. Among
> >> many
> >> other Muslim populations, the Arabic greeting “assalam wa leikum”, meaning
> >> “may peace be upon you” was also used. But, there was no formal dictum
> >> about
> >> the usage while I was growing up and there could be overlaps. So, as a
> >> child
> >> I often replied with an “adaab” to someone who came in saying “assalam wa
> >> leikum” and it was not considered inappropriate. As for “Allah hafiz” (may
> >> god keep you safe), I did not hear the term until about a decade ago. The
> >> word “khuda” originates from Persian but because it is used in other
> >> languages too, it can be seen as a more embracing word for God than Allah.
> >> The latter is a more specific reference to god in Islam and is confined to
> >> its Arabic origins, at least so far. Thus, although they emerge from a
> >> specific North Indian Muslim culture, “adaab” and “khuda hafiz” have had a
> >> more inclusive history.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> Today, these terms are being given up by many Muslims in India, from
> >> different class backgrounds, in favour of the more unambiguously Islamic
> >> “assalam waleikum” and “Allah hafiz”. For those of us who seek to draw
> >> attention to the complicated greys that lie between the uncompromising
> >> blacks and whites, this notion of unambiguity is naturally problematic.
> >> But,
> >> in this trajectory of change from “adaab” to “asalam waleikum”, from
> >> “khuda
> >> hafiz” to “Allah hafiz”, there are other stories too, stories about why
> >> people group around markers of identities, about what gives people a sense
> >> of security and comfort, about what creates new groupings. So, even as I
> >> feel uncomfortable about puritanical Islamic practices creeping in around
> >> me, I recognise that our lives are composed of many overlapping stories,
> >> as
> >> the novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche has so eloquently spoken about,
> >> stories
> >> that need to be told to avoid what she calls “the danger of the single
> >> story”.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> So, in the context of adaab and khuda hafiz, what are these other stories?
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> Consider some of these:
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In the late 1960s, a young girl joins a college hostel and as the lone
> >> Muslim girl, she is made to eat separately in the dining hall and put her
> >> used dishes apart from the rest.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In the 1980s, one Muslim family loses 56 members to communal rioting,
> >> including the murder of an uncle at the hands of his best friend.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In the 1990s, a woman from a small town in UP with a BA, MA and BEd moves
> >> to
> >> Delhi to teach in a school. She moves back within a month – “I wear a
> >> burkha
> >> and the whole environment there was not suited for me…”
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In the years since 2002, a dynamic young woman, founder of an NGO to help
> >> poor and dalit Muslims, stops telling people her real name while
> >> travelling
> >> on trains because of being looked at with suspicion.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In the mid-2000s, a teacher attends a workshop in which participants are
> >> asked to introduce themselves by talking about their biggest fears. One
> >> participant shares that hers is that her son will marry a Muslim - because
> >> they are dirty.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In 2008, a young girl, who likes going to school and does well at studies,
> >> wonders why the school celebrates Holi and Christmas but not Eid.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> In 2009, a media person who offers her neighbour the use of her flat
> >> during
> >> wedding festivities is told by colleagues that she should not have done so
> >> since the groom was a Muslim man from Azamgarh. The same woman remembers a
> >> Muslim boy who worked for a while in her office – “He was referred to as
> >> jihadi!”
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> This is a sample of stories that I have encountered in the course of a
> >> two-year research project on Muslim women and their experiences of
> >> education
> >> in parts of western UP. It is only a sample and it is only one person’s
> >> encounter. What, I wonder, would a more comprehensive collection reveal?
> >> But, even in this sprinkling of voices, there is a larger narrative of
> >> exclusion. A story of people being grouped together, in both subtle and
> >> direct ways. People are identified by the religion they practise or are
> >> born
> >> into. Not in itself a bad thing since human beings choose a variety of
> >> groupings - around class/caste/religion, schools, football teams, movie
> >> stars, work ethics, fashion statements, job aspirations. The list is
> >> endless. But when that identification becomes the sole defining identity,
> >> it
> >> presents itself as the natural order of things instead of the construction
> >> that it is. It becomes a wall that seeks to make itself invisible.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> And when the cloak of invisibility falls off and the wall shows up – in
> >> the
> >> form of a veil, a riot or a separate greeting code – who is the one who
> >> built it? The ones who sought to keep out? Or the ones who chose to stay
> >> in?
> >> And what of those who wanted windows instead of walls? Continuing to say
> >> “adaab” and “khuda hafiz” is my way of acknowledging that while there is a
> >> wall, it can have an open window.
> >>
> >>
> >> --*Samina Mishra is a documentary filmmaker and media practitioner based
> >> in
> >> New Delhi.*
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> --
> >> Ujwala Samarth
> >> (Programme Coordinator, Open Space)
> >>
> >> www.openspaceindia.org
> >> www.infochangeindia.org
> >> http://www.facebook.com/pages/Open-Space/116557125037041
> >>
> >> B-301, Kanchanjunga Building,
> >> Kanchan Lane, Off Law College Rd,,
> >> Pune 411004
> >> (020-25457371)
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