Arhan Kumar
Caligram Project (02/21/2023)
I have endeavoured to incorporate certain aspects associated with God, as well as ideas within Islam, as elucidated in our class––in particular, God as love itself, God the omnipresent, God the ineffable, the idea of an apparent (zahir) meaning and an underlying (batin) meaning, and my limited understanding of Sufism. If one traces the note-heads of this brief and simple composition, one finds that they spell the Arabic word for “God” (Allah in Latin script). This is may not be apparent (zahir) initially and is a hidden message that must be extracted by a keen eye and wise mind. This brings us to the idea of an omnipresent God, whose “face” can be found wherever one looks. A literal face is, of course, a human quality and is therefore not an aspect of God. As I understand it, the idea is to experience God in every aspect of the world. Just so, while the name (an allegory for the “face”) can be deciphered in the score of the music, it is not God itself (just as the mere score is not the music itself); God must instead be experienced in the music. A prevalent idea in today’s scholarship on music is of its ineffable nature. Music, like God, is beyond comprehension (but not, as we have learnt, beyond experience). Therefore, in finding God in the music, we have experienced one ineffable (God) through another (music).
Yet, this calligram holds an even greater significance to me. An idea that Professor Asani discusses in one of the chapters we read from his unpublished book is of God as love itself. Some communities take this idea so far as to modify the first part of the Shahada from “There is no god but God” to “There is no god but Love.” The title of this piece is a homage to that very idea. Music, although ineffable, is something for which I hold a deep and sincere love. Creating this calligram is therefore an act of love for me and therefore an act in God. It is also a homage to Sufism, a tradition of my people (in India and greater South Asia) and therefore one from which I may perhaps claim some heritage.
Final Assignment (05/04/2023)
Part 1b
Dearest papa,
I am doing very well as my final semester at Harvard comes to an end. I am writing today to talk to you about an idea we have explored in my GENED course this semester that I believe a lot of people could benefit from. The course in question is a titled “Understanding Islam and Contemporary Muslim Societies,” through which I have come to realize the diversity not only of cultures, but also of attitudes, lifestyles, and aspirations, both across the globe and within specific locales. This holds true for both the many communities of Muslims that exist today and those that have existed throughout history. I think that amidst the many voices against Islam as a community that have become to prevalent back home in India, it is important for you to consider what I am about to share with you and ask yourself whether what those voices argue is sensible.
I am sure you remember the two trips we made to the Ajmer Sharif Dargah as a family in my childhood. For us, it was simply a sacred place where we could find blessings of wellbeing. Looking back at it, I see that beauty and peace of that experience was a face of Islam that is rarely talked about as such and is in fact even shunned by some communities of Muslims. Ajmer is a place where people from the many communities of India (and beyond) come together to seek the compassion of a higher power. However, in overlooking the fact that what we seek refuge in at that place is an interpretation of the Qu’ran and the Hadith, we cling tightly to the prejudices that we have developed around Islam. The same is true for the poetry of Rumi and the Ghazals that are so popular among us north Indians.
Why do should rely on the few examples of oppression in the name of Islam to define its character? Why should we forget that there is an example of peace and tolerance standing in contrast to every example of violence and oppression associated with it––the Ajmer Sharif to the Al-Qaeda, Indonesia to Saudi Arabia––all in the name of Islam? An answer to these questions may lie in some people’s pursuit of power. In contrasting the “other” so harshly with ourselves that we forget the often stronger shared interests that bind us, we are easier to unite and be used in games of power, especially those in which numbers matter, such as elections. Ironically, this gambit of “othering” is often used within the Islamic context against Muslims themselves. Take Saudi Arabia, for instance, which has alienated all but a very narrow definition of what constitutes being a Muslim. In India itself, too many communities besides Muslims, including non-speakers of Hindi, the queer, tribal people, and those from the so-called lower castes, have suffered as a consequence of this othering. All of this is to say simply that we can resist being made pawns in such games of power, in which we all suffer in some way.
Our Hindu Upanishad have been called the Kitab Makhtun or hidden book of divine revelation by Muslim scholars of the Mughal Era. Moreover, the unified nature of all divine is commonly accepted among Hindus. Therefore, even in matters of faith, we may find much in common. In his poem, which most Indians perhaps know, Tarana-e-Hind, better known as its opening text “Saare jahaan se acchha,” Muhammad Iqbal reminds us that religion does not give us reason to bear any contempt for one another, that we are Indians first. Although I see how the latter part of what I have paraphrased could be misused in the name of perverse nationalism, I do believe in its ultimate veracity. Let us look at our neighbor as of the same soil as ours. Let us remember that we often have much more in common than not. Let us remember the beauty of the “unity in diversity,” as we have grown up claiming, of India.
I eagerly await the next time we see one another. Perhaps then you can share some sort of response with me on these thoughts.
Yours most lovingly,
Arhan
Part 1c
I wanted the previous section to reflect not only what I have learnt from this course, but also the deeply personal aspects of my life it touches. Coming from a Hindu household and having grown up in New Delhi, I have been a part of many conversations around Islam and its position in India. I have found views both concerning and comforting on the matter, although more of the former than the latter unfortunately. I have grown up in a house where we have not found complete unity on the matter. My mother, like me, advocates for secularism of the kind wherein people have the right to choose their own path to the divine or to refuse it entirely without penalty. My conversations around Islam with my father, however, have been a little more difficult. Through this course, I have managed to develop some understanding of the struggles Muslims face within their community and from beyond, as well as a minimal vocabulary to articulate these. A letter to my father highlights the personal nature of what I have gained, allows me to articulate my stance lovingly, and draws on our shared experiences on which I have reflected during my time in this course.
The aspect I chose to focus on was the heterogeneity of Islamic traditions which render attempts to vilify the Muslim community as a whole rather meaningless. The general point I am trying to make here is that, because of this heterogeneity, a lot of Muslims in India would find more in common with us (myself and my family) than with proponents of violence in the name of Islam. I wanted to tie in some ideas from Iqbal’s Tarana-e-Hind that I, as well as most people around me, have grown up with. I also brought up the idea of “unity in diversity,” which is a saying common in India to characterize its own heterogeneity, as a reminder that even when some aspects of peoples’ lives diverge, they are not inherently opposed to one another and can often find more common ground than not. For me, the most valuable recipient of these ideas would be someone I trust and care for deeply yet who would not already be in complete agreement with my stance. It is the beginning of a conversation that would ultimately bear fruit. While there are others who could fit these criteria, my father is the one in whose growth I am most invested in and whose support I most value.