Prof. Mansura Haider

Aligarh, India

From the deepest feelings of my heart, I often recall the memories of Uzbekistan as my second home. My association with Uzbekistan goes back to the mid sixties. It was in 1965 that I was first introduced to the region when Prof. S. Nurul Hasan, my research guide, assigned me a research study concerning the history and culture of Central Asia. In those days, not many could think of an exhaustive study of the region. Even some of my senior teachers were highly skeptical about the outcome of this venture, colleagues often laughed at the idea. Sometimes, I was myself confused on the issue. My repeated queries, however, met with the same confident response from my supervisor, Prof. Nurul Hasan, that the region had played an important role in the past and will become even important in the coming days in relation to our country. All said and done, the task remained difficult since there was no material available on the subject in India. To be able to equip oneself with a thorough knowledge of the region, one had to learn several languages. Nevertheless, I tried to make use of the limited material available inside the country and I also studied the Russian language for a few years. During these four years, I read almost every source of modern work on Mughal history and every kind of book even remotely concerned with my subject in search of even a short paragraph. I studied all the relevant travelogues, geographical works, Malfuzat literature, treatises on different subjects, and books on statecraft. Besides this there were valuable works of Howarth, Barthold, Hilda Hookhan, Vambery, Hambly, Prawdin, Rahul Sanskratayan whose works sustained me during those years.

It was only in October 1969 that the most eagerly awaited opportunity of visiting Central Asia for my studies came. Being born and brought up in a traditional family, I was never allowed to move around alone. Even visits to my friend’s homes, a rare event indeed, made me helpless when an old maid accompanied us, gazing uninterruptedly all the time and watching our movements, listening to our conversation and sharing our jokes. This was the first opportunity to move out freely. I was, however, neither happy nor excited as I had to leave my three months old baby behind to be looked after by my husband. With a “heart heavier than my pocket” I landed at the Sheremetevo airport. There were cold freezing winds and a thick layer of snow covering the land – a sight for which we Indians generally spend a fortune and travel miles to see the snowfall. I was taken straight from the airport to the Foreign Office, hungry, frozen due to the cold and feeling terribly lonely. I had no roubles but just a few dollars, and my hosts gave me a small torn paper, which I came to know later was a token to receive my dinner. In the stalovaya I saw everyone paying in cash for their food, and so feeling embarrassed I came back to my room. I was feeling numb, having no appetite, shivering with cold and feeling homesick. For some unknown reason, the whole night I was trembling with fear. On the 10th morning also I did not go to the stalovaya but I made it a point to go to the office to press for my departure from Moscow in order to start my work. My destination was Tashkent, where the original sources of my subject were available. The officer from the Foreign Office could hardly understand as to why I was so keen to rush to Tashkent. His experiences had shown him that each foreigner wished to prolong his stay in Moscow, and to go around and enjoy the sights in the capital of the erstwhile USSR, before going to their assigned place of work. I was insistent and most unwilling to stay on for a second day in Moscow as I was keen to wish my work at the earliest and rush back to my motherland to be with my child. I was feeling lost and forlorn and perhaps this was the reason why they agreed to send me immediately to Tashkent. The very next day I was favored with a journey by train (as there were no seats available by plane) and given nine roubles. In that “Myagi Vagon” (airconditioned II class] I had my first experience of meeting with every brand of the Uzbeks – the people on whom I was going to work. There were plump and good -looking ladies in long tunic like frocks and ishtanis, chubby and sweet children running around in the compartment. Very soon, I attracted the attention of my co-passengers. In the early seventies, the sight of Indians in Uzbekistan was a rarity, as they seldom visited these regions. There were hardly three or four Indians there during that period, namely- Prof Qamar Rais (who used to teach Urdu to the students in Tashkent), Prof. Devender Kaushik (who was working on modern Central Asia), Mr. Sultan and Mr. Bhat who used to work at the Radio Station. I had the honor of working on the history of Uzbekistan, a fact that immediately awakened national feelings and softened the local people. My status was enhanced instantly as I was clad in a saree and belonged to a land, which attracted every Uzbek. The Central Asian generally love Indians – as for them India a fairy land – a “ckaska” where only millionaires live, each person has a melodious voice and can sing and dance; where stinking rich girls opt for poor boys and where only and pure love reigns. For them the Indian films, Indian songs, Indian actors, (particularly Nargis and Raj Kapur) are a source of perpetual joy. During my two days’ rail journey, my fellow passengers were eager to please me. They kept offering me snacks, sweets and making me comfortable, irrespective of the fact of the communication gap between us, as till then I could not speak Russian fluently. However, we communicated by exchanging smiles, and sweet gestures. Soon, the basic teaching of the Uzbek language started. The Uzbek words for eyes, nose, mouth, hands and so on were dictated to me, which can still be found scribbled in my old diary. For some curious reason I started feeling at home.

I had reached Tashkent when the cotton picking was at its peak and the libraries and the university staff were engaged in helping their state in picking cotton. During this period, I had to rely only upon the nearby library known as the Fundamental library. The librarian there was an affectionate elderly lady, known as Anwar Apa. Often she used to bring nice uzbek dishes prepared for me alone and fed me like a daughter. During a long chat once, I referred to the ”yurt” about which I had read but had so far had no chance to see, but which was very necessary for me in order to understand the type nomadic habitats. I was moved when Anwar Apa prepared a nice looking small ”yurt” made of straw and felt and brought it for me the very next day. There was a curtain on its door and all the essential things “kept inside”. She was not an artist but simply a good human being who wanted to assist me. Once, when I mentioned to my friends that I had read about “sandal” in the travelogues but had not yet seen it, a friend of mine quickly rang up her aunt who was ready to receive us. We traveled to the suburban area and there I was sitting around sandal and enjoying uzbek hospitality.

There were gestures of friendship, care, and thoughtfulness that went home and sustained me in those difficult and dreary days when I had left home for the first time for such a long period time and yearned for my near and dear ones. In the various libraries where the manuscripts on my subject were available, my friends were very particular that I had enough material with me even on weekends so that I could utilize each minute of my time. They borrowed the books from the library and quietly passed it on me so that I could finish my work and rush back home to be with my children. Once I was in need of a rare article urgently, Prof. Razia Muqminova (a renowned uzbek scholar) came to know of it and typed the whole article for me, as the use of the zerox machine was not so common in those days. Another friend Yulduz Teshabaev not only provided me with books, which he borrowed from libraries for me but often procured old rare books as well as new ones from the authors. Once she met Prof. Ilyas Nizamuddinov, whose new book had just been published and insisted that he should present a copy to me. Prof. Nizamuddinov wrote a nice message for me and handed over the book to Yulduz to be passed over to me. Needless to say, that the book was extremely useful to me. When I went back to Uzbekistan after a gap of 17 years, I met Prof. Nizamuddinov by chance at the institute were I had gone in search of an article. I immediately recalled that I had his book, which contained useful comments on Central Asian studies, very relevant for those pursuing the sphere of Central Asia. I had forgotten that the book had been passed on to me by Yulduz. While talking to him, I kept on insisting that we had met before and that he had presented his book to me and which was still in my possession. He was insistent that he had never seen me before. We could not convince each other and parted with the plea that I would show him the book the next day. That tomorrow never came as he died the next morning.

Initially, when I came to Tashkent State University, where hundreds of foreign students from all parts of the globe studied, including the rich and developed America to the backward and developing countries, I had a sense of inferiority complex in front of the boasts of the American students. But the extraordinary significance shown towards me by the hosts filled me with so much confidence that I felt as if I had come from fairy land, an inhabitant from another planet. On all the national festival days of Soviet Russia, the Indian national flag rose high. On Indian national days, 26th of January and the 15th of August, the friendship society organized very lively functions in which I was given foremost importance, and a central place on the dais along with their high officials and ministers. On the death anniversary of our late Prime Minister, Shri Lal Bahadur Shastri, they observed a mourning assembly. On such an occasion they took me to the guesthouse, and showed me the room and the bed with its wrinkled sheet where Shastriji had breathed his last. They expressed sorrow and gave their heartfelt condolences to me on his sad demise. In a far off land – miles away from my dear homeland, I was moved to the very core of my heart that there were people in this region who shared our sorrows and rejoiced in our joys.

In every function that I attended, Uzbek boys and girls greeted me with Indian songs. They picked up each and every musical note with perfect rhythm, copied it so well though at times pronouncing a few words incorrectly. In international gatherings also, no other songs were sung except Uzbek and Indian melodies. Once, after one of the international seminars, we were taken to a far off place in Central Asia for a really refreshing and relaxing day. After the enjoyable dance and music program followed by a grand feast, there were Indian songs - one after the other- “ramaiyya vasta vaiyya”; “awara hoon, mere joota hai japani” and so on. To my utter embarrassment, I could not stop myself- I was crying and my endless sobs confirmed that I acknowledged their attachment to our people, our country and above all to our songs and films. In a foreign country nothing could be more soothing to a homesick heart than this show of oneness, of a people who are all too ready to love and like your country with all its virtues and drawbacks.

In India people are astonished to see my home turning into a small consulate whenever our Central Asian friends visit us, as my frenzied blind attraction for a non dollar land is beyond their comprehension. Whenever any one from Central Asia arrives in India, I always eagerly look forward to meeting these known or unknown guests. Either they themselves contact me or I start my frantic search to meet them. My family greets every guest from Central Asia with the same affection and love with which I welcome my friends. Sometimes the guests do not know English, on such occasions, if I am not around my family cheerfully bears the burden of this non- communicative relationship, even through the STD as the go between. Whenever some such friends come to stay at my son’s residence in Delhi and I was not present there, (and such occasions occurred often) and actions could not bridge the communication gap, my son had to contact me on STD every time he wanted to convey something to my friends, who were staying with him. I had to do the job of an interpreter through the telephone. Even such ventures gave us pleasure. Due to my deep liking for the people from the erstwhile Soviet Union, I once put myself in a very embarrassing situation. In Aligarh, a language teacher from the Soviet Union used to come for three years to teach Russian language in our University. These teachers always became apart of our family. These teachers always became a part of our family. Every second day, they visited us. Once a Russian teacher came from Siberia. He did not know anything about us and as I was abroad at that time I could not contact him, therefore our mutual meeting was delayed to very precarious point. I returned only on the 6th of November. I realized that our unknown friend would be celebrating his national festival the next day (7th November) all on his own. We were extremely concerned and worried as to how to make his festival lively. My husband suggested that we invite him for dinner to our place on that day. I prepared an invitation in Russian and sent it along with a beautiful card congratulating him on 7th November. I jotted down on the card “from friends of Soviet Union to friend from the Soviet Union”. Since my name was unknown to him and since his neighbors were sitting with him, he handed over the invitation to lady to inquire about me. This lady was a colleague of mine from our university. Although she told our Russian guest about me, to my chagrin and consternation, she told many in the university that I sent greetings and invitations to strangers. Perhaps she failed to understand that there are certain compulsions of emotional bonds with certain lands and its people, obligations of harmony and claims of hospitality that have to be fulfilled.

During my first few days in Tashkent, I was sometimes overwhelmed by the excessive affection and hospitality so generously showered upon me. Shirin, the lady working at the foreign office was, as I understand a perfect choice for her job. She was more like a helpful and hospitable friend than a cold unconcerned officer. This lady at the foreign office at Tashkent advised me that as I was going to work on the history and culture of the uzbek people, I should share the room with an uzbek girl, Miram, who was teaching French and English at the Samarkand University. Miram’s aunt, Borchin apa was the Principal of a school in Samarkand and was there on leave, living with her daughter, Sveta in that very hostel. Miram was caring and soft-spoken. She was the one who acquainted me with the life in and around Tashkent. She took me to the homes of her Uzbek friends in Tashkent, where the real ethnicity of the Uzbeks was reflected. When I visited Samarkand for the first time, Miram had scolded me “the matter in Tashkent was different, now don’t show your roubles to me in Samarkand”. Whenever Miram left Tashkent for her home town, she used to instruct her aunt to take me to her room so that I did not feel lonely and frightened alone in my room. During my stay in Samarkand, Borchhim apa also organized a very big reception at her school, where I met with budding Uzbek beauties who sang Indian songs and asked thousands of questions about India, Indian films, particularly about Nargis and Raj Kapur.

I used to stay in the hostel meant for Research Scholars where even families were accommodated. After a full day of hard work and hurried dinner at the stolovaya, I visited the rooms of my friends, some of whom were single, others with families, but all of them were so happy to receive me that I always felt like a VIP. The company was so addictive that even when my husband came to visit me for a month, I often went to see them, even if only for a short time, as I sure they must be missing the evenings that we used to spend together. During my husband’s stay in the hostel, all my friends had shown a friendly gesture by inviting him for dinner, even though it must have been quite difficult for them to arrange everything in one single room being faced with shortage of space as well as pressure of a busy schedule. It is this pure sincerity that I recall and wish to repay.

Outside the hostel also, there was a circle of friends who were working at the Institute of Oriental Studies. Professor Sabahat Azim Janova, whom we lovingly called ‘Sabahat apa’ who happened to be the Director of the Oriental Studies Institute was always very kind and affectionate to me. My husband and I often enjoyed her hospitality. When she came to Aligarh, India and we wistfully recalled the nice Uzbek pilau we used to relish at her place, she prepared a deg full of pilau at my place to satiate our palate. During my second trip to Tashkent in 1987-88, she insisted that the cook in the institute restaurant did not charge any money from me for my lunch, and should submit the bill to her instead. Adamant as apa was, I had to give air to a false sickness and avoided taking meals from the restaurant till the time that apa could realize my predicament and gave up this gesture of generosity. A close friend of mine, Shirin Jalilova, who lived next door was well versed in Hindi language and worked at the Oriental Faculty. I was often invited to her place. When I was going to Moscow for the first time, she was extremely worried that I was going to fall ill in the chilly weather of Moscow. She frantically searched for a really warm head wrapper or scarf. Having failed to get one, she requested her mother in law to remove her Orenburgski shawl and hesitatingly offered it to me with a thousand apologies that she was giving me a used shawl. All my pleas were rejected. Her kind gesture touched me immensely and her insistence made me helpless. While leaving for India, I deposited this gift of thoughtfulness at a friend’s place in Moscow with the instructions to have it sent back to Shirin in Tashkent. Later on I came to know that she never received it back. I wistfully recall the happy days I spenwith Shirin in Tashkent as well as in India.

My supervisor in Tashkent Prof. Abrarovich Hidayatov indeed helped me a lot in carrying out my research work in Tashkent and my stay in Tashkent academically fruitful. He organized my trips various places. Where he had personal friends or relatives, he had requested them to look after me properly. The care shown by Prof. Hidayatov and his wife are still fresh in my mind. Prof. Hidayatov’s mother always showered affection of a kind that is unforgettable. The lavish hospitality so lovingly offered by my friends like Yulduz Teshabaev and Sewar, and the nice conversations that I used to have with them often flash back in my memory.

When I went to Farghana with my husband, we liked the green town and loved to walk around. Once while we were walking on the road, an Uzbek girl, clad in her colorful atlas, basma decorated eyes and long dark plaited hair came to us and enthusiastically asked “Indits”? (Indians?), she wanted to confirm, and the very next moment she started insisting that we must lunch with her the next day. All our pleadings went in vain. My husband, who is usually very cautious, planned that we leave the room early in the morning as to avoid giving trouble to our unknown hosts. The next morning, sharp at 9.00 a.m., before we could move out of our room, her brother was there with his black Volga. We were caught and had no option but to accept their generous hospitality. We were fed to the brim till 4.00 p.m. after which they brought us back to our hotel room. We kept on wondering on this sudden, unexpected show of affection and generosity.

In Tashkent, my various friends invited me to their homes. After sumptuous feasts, they dropped me at the hotel. The large packs of a variety of food were sent with me so that there was no need for me to buy any food for the next two three days.

Whenever there were long vacations of four or five days, my friend Farida Salimova (niece of the famous poet, Ghafur Ghulam) always insisted that I should spend the time with her. I was like a family member to them and was always invited to all the very close family gatherings, whether it was at Farida’s place or at any of her relatives, I was never forgotten. Farida’s two daughters loved me as much as I loved them. We used to roam around every corner of Tashkent. Once a very interesting episode occurred due to this hospitality spree. Farida’s husband, Damir, was a film producer and used to go to Moscow very often. On one such occasion, Farida asked me to stay on with her for three days, as there was a three days break coming up and we could sit together and finish writing something that we had been planning to write together. I had told the hotel in charge about my proposed program incase someone enquired about me, (the most sought after celebrity). Instead of passing this information on to the person taking charge from her, the lady in-charge went for a week’s rest. In the meanwhile another Russian friend of mine, Mrs Sorokina, wished to invite me for some program and kept on giving me a call till late at night. When she failed to contact me early the next morning, she asked the hotel in-charge who did not have any information except that my phone was not being answered. Mrs. Sorokin was very upset and anxiously and frantically rang up our institute and later on almost all the city hospitals seeking information about an Indian lady. Since the University was closed, she contacted the Foreign Office. Thereafter there were repeated inquiries from the hotel. While this drama was going on, I was quietly and calmly enjoying the warm uzbek hospitality in Farida’s cosy home. The third day when I appeared in the hotel and then in the institute I was told about the happenings and the lost and found story.
As a born poetess, I always lessen the burden of my emotions through my composition of verses. I had often composed poems on Uzbekistan- some of which are being reproduced at the end.

While studying Mughal history, my favorite subject, in my teen age, I often wondered why Babur all the time yearned for his motherland, despite the fact that he managed to conquer an equally grand empire in India. To my mind, it was something more than the usual craving of a patriot for his motherland. While my teachers could not satisfy me through their explanations on the subject, my own experiences in Central Asia have convinced me. There is something very special and magnetic about Central Asia and its people.
 

“Diplomatist”, October 2006