Kombai S. Anwar's "Yaadhum" - a learning experience

http://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/kombai-s-anwars-yaadhum-reveals-the-pluralistic-society-of-tamils/article7305475.ece

GEETHA VENKATRAMANAN

Kombai S. Anwar’s documentary, ‘Yaadhum’, traces the roots of Tamil Muslims holding a mirror to a society that fostered brotherhood. 
 

Kombai S. Anwar’s ‘Yaadhum’ is a learning experience. It opens the window to a world where people of different communities co-existed, enriched each other’s lives and did not even think about it. The documentary that was screened recently at the C.P. Art Centre traced the roots of Tamil Muslims holding a mirror to a society that fostered brotherhood. 

Neither Anwar nor his documentary would be new to readers. The film has garnered awards and is drawing attention slowly and steadily. But it is the eternal relevance of the message that makes viewing it a rewarding experience, an experience that strengthens bonds and puts hope in weary hearts. 

What exactly triggered the film? “Identity crisis,” pat comes the reply. As a child, Anwar did not have problems socialising. In Kombai, a hamlet in Madurai, where he was born, people of all communities lived together, shared space and emotions. It was as an adult that he found himself confused. “You don’t speak Urdu…?” The unsaid part was, “What kind of a Muslim are you?” As if Urdu is mandatory to practise the faith. “We can learn the Koran in our mother tongue, whatever it may be. Brethren from the same community were asking the question as if the Tamil Muslim was an alien. My roots are here, my parents and their parents are here. But we are not accepted. What then is my status?” 

Anwar decided to explore and trace his roots, from the foothills of the Western Ghats, where his forefathers had pepper and cardamom plantations. His fascinating journey across the State and beyond resulted in the documentary ‘Yaadhum (All).’ 

“A year after its release, I find new meanings and new dimensions,” says Anwar. “The time has helped to look at it from new perspectives,” he adds. “Remove me, a Muslim, and put someone else in that place, from anywhere, any community, the subject would still be relevant. Identity crisis is something happening everywhere, most of the conflicts born out of the desperate attempt at assertion.” 

The film opens with a temple procession to the accompaniment of nagaswaram crossing a mosque. None complains. “This is a procession of the Ranganatha temple and is a routine,” says Anwar. Trade facilitated traffic, especially to and from West Asia. This in turn led to people adopting different faiths. “We are talking about the scene 1,400 years ago. So from Madurai and Kochi to Kayalpattinam and Nagore, there are Muslims, who speak Tamil and are native of the soil. Of course, there are Malayalam and Telugu speaking Muslims, Moplahs and so on.” 

“The division was a colonial legacy,” asserts Anwar. “The British, from a mono-faith background, did not appreciate the plurality of this land and realised that they had to first breach this unity in diversity. What followed was the two main divisions -- Hindus and Muslims. The former was a term foisted upon us. It suited the purpose of the East India Company. Unfortunately, we are also following history as it has been recorded by them,” explains Anwar. A few historians are trying to put the record straight but the effort is not sufficient. “There is a lot to unlearn,” he says. 

“I was always drawn to Madurai, the city that doesn’t sleep. There is always something happening,” says Anwar. One of the major festivals is Puttu Tiruvizha that commemorates one of Siva’s 64 leelas. The film captures the priest assuming the role of a lad (!), who offers to help Vanti, the old woman, and eventually falls asleep. No, it is not the drama that matters so much here as the Muslim family that plays a vital role. With them rests the responsibility of putting up a fence around the enactment arena. They are honoured on the concluding day, a tradition that has continued for four generations. 

A brief shot captures a woman performing karagattam in costume, typical to the art – brief skirt and a jacket. “There is nothing vulgar about it. It is our ethos. Nobody in the village would think it is obscene because it is part of rural culture. The urban version found the artist clad in full pyjamas and have lost a flavour that belongs to this soil,” points out Anwar 

The Kanthuri festival in Azhwartirunagari is celebrated to the accompaniment of nagaswaram and the gait of an elephant. And martial arts were not exclusive to Tamils. The film focusses on the oldest mosque built in Dravidian style. Later in the interaction with the audience, Anwar remarks that there never were set rules to the construction of mosques. They imbibe the architectural style of the period and place. Thus the inside of a mosque is similar to the worship place of the Hindus and those in Kerala resemble a typical Ambalam. “There is no rule that mosques must have minarets.” 

Someone in the audience mentions Kafir, which is supposed to denote hatred for other elements. Anwar’s quiet reply - “I’ve also heard that it has negative connotations but the Islam I know is all about equality and brotherhood” – is greeted with loud cheers. 

The film has experts talking about the contribution of Muslims to Tamil literature. “Their contribution is the richest,” observes Kaviko Raguman and says this fact was acknowledged by no less a person than K.P. Viswanathan, scholar. And there are any number of scholars, including M.M. Ismail, who were Ramayana experts. Gunangudi Mastan Saheb can be compared to the Azhwars in his devotion to Allah, whom he visualised as a woman. Expressing his love for ‘Her,’ Saheb concludes on this poignant note: “You may have many suitors but you are my only Light of Life.” 

It is moving as Aboobacker sings the praise of Allah prefixing the songs with tuneful viruttams. Kapi and Bageshri lend themselves to his voice that has the tone of a temple bell. 

The film ends with the song ‘Yaadhum Oore yaavarum kaelir.’ To an appreciative audience, Anwar explains, “With this rich tapestry of legacy and bonhomie, I can’t be an alien. I don’t have to speak Urdu in order to prove that I’m a Muslim. I’m a native of this place. I’m a Tamil first and Muslim next. I am a combination of all the factors that make my motherland special.” 

In a private chat, Anwar expands: “Conflict arises because we have failed to look at the picture as a whole. Without a fair knowledge of the scriptures of other faiths, one cannot claim to have complete knowledge of one’s religion. There are leaders, who have read the Gita, Koran and the Bible. They rise above all differences because they know ultimately it is one power.” 

It is in this context perhaps that the film speaks of Sufis and Siddhars in the same breath. “Yes,” affirms Anwar. “‘Onre Kulam, Oruvane Devan’ comes from Tirumandiram. Yakoba was a Vaishnavite, who after meditation found himself transported to Mecca. Bhogar too had a similar experience,” he informs. The film shows people of all faiths praying at the altar of Sufi saints, believed to have healing powers. One is reminded of women with ailing children waiting outside mosques to be blessed by the … They strongly believe that his rhythmic chanting and the caress of the peacock feathers, through the cloud of fragrant sambrani will remove any ill effects their offspring might be suffering. 

Is Anwar planning a second part? 

Yes, on the Diaspora. “Singapore and Malaysia to begin with,” he says. “And it will be Tamils on the whole, which will 

“You know, biriyani is not our trademark delicacy,” Anwar told the viewers. “We serve our special guests what is called Nei Soru.’” He adds: “However, if you want to eat biriyani, come to Madurai. You’ll get the most authentic recipe there.” 

“I encountered a problem getting a community certificate for my daughter because her name was Nachiyar, the same issue that dogged my mother, whose name is Chellammal,” observes Anwar. These are Tamil names but my contemporaries do not understand it. “We are dismissed as Labbai, something inferior. But we had our counter. We called the Urdu speaking Muslims Pattaani,” he laughs. 

Vignettes from the film

 

Joe d’Cruz says: “When I was a childm I often would hear this pedlar, a Muslim elder, crying out, ‘Muscoth Halwa!’ at noon with the sun right above his head. He would enter our house, head straight for the kitchen, pick up a plate, and help himself to the food even as my grandmother would hurry with a glass of water. After the meal, he would stretch himself in a corner, rest for a couple of hours, pick up his vessel and leave. Where is disparity here? We would call our Muslim elders chacha and chachi. 

About Anwar

 

A student of Chennai’s Loyola College (visual communication), Anwar was a freelance journalist who photographed pictures for his own stories. Soon he found pictures were more eloquent than essays. He engaged himself in making documentaries and short films. He was commissioned by South Madras Gazetteer to trace the history of Muslims of Madras. The Archaeological Survey of India gave him the project of making a film on the Big Temple to commemorate its 1,000 year. “Documenting the history of Muslims opened my eyes to the misrepresentations that filled the so-called history books. They were simply loaded against the community. I decided to focus on the subject and throw light on the misunderstandings.” 

(Courtesy: The Hindu)