The author of ‘City on Fire: A Boyhood in Aligarh’ on what it means to be a Muslim in the current political climate
The ominous spectre of violence shadows the lives of some children growing up in present-day India. Their boyhood memories involve pressing a switch in their living room, which unwittingly sets off an alarm to alert the neighbourhood that a bloodthirsty Hindu mob is on their way. For some, their childhood experiences includes crowds circling their school bus, trying to claw their way into the vehicle to kill them. In this world, young men walk the streets with their heads down to avoid trouble even as they are heckled with derogatory taunts, like ‘katua’ — an Islamophobic slur mocking circumcised Muslim males.
It is these kind of personal experiences that New Delhi-based journalist Zeyad Masroor Khan lucidly describes in City on Fire: A Boyhood in Aligarh (HarperCollins). An evocative and telling memoir of growing up in communally sensitive Aligarh, it’s a no-holds-barred narrative of living amid hate, which is as terrifyingly normal as young Zeyad’s singular passion for music, Raj comics, superheroes like Super Commando Dhruva and video games.
Often, bloodshed snakes its way into his narration as communal riots break out in Aligarh periodically — in the aftermath of the demolition of Babri Masjid, and the 2002 Gujarat riots — provoking Zeyad to question the nature of the people who participate in riots. Usually, he says, it is the owner of the neighbourhood shop his family had been buying goods from for years or the ice-cream seller.
After the death of a young man, Azim, who was beaten to death with a bat after returning from a movie with his wife, he quotes Hannah Arendt’s 1961 essay in the The New Yorker on the banality of evil. Arendt found German officers she interviewed in concentration camps were “terrifying normal” men, who remained detached from their murderous acts. She found they did not kill from an ideological position but did it without consciousness of the consequences of their actions. They were like “monsters who killed without thinking”.
There is a strong sense of anguish and anger that runs through Zeyad’s honest telling of his childhood, his time as a graduate student in Aligarh Muslim University, surviving in the 'bhai' culture on the streets and his move subsequently to Delhi to study journalism in the famed Jamia Millia Islamia. It is an important book to read in the times we live in, and gives you an insight into what it means to be a Muslim in India today. Zeyad talks to The Federal about his book, how cathartic it has been and his thoughts on what he calls the ‘othering’ of Muslims. Excerpts:
What prompted you to write this memoir?
A major reason for writing City on Fire: A Boyhood in Aligarh was the Delhi riots of 2020. I was living in a Hindu-majority area in Delhi (he moved to Delhi to study journalism and pursue a career in this field) when over fifty Indians lost their lives. The fear that I felt at that time eventually became a trigger for old traumatic memories to bloom — those related to growing up on the border of Hindu-Muslim neighbourhoods in Aligarh during recurrent communal conflicts.
At a time when I could be killed because of my faith, I couldn’t help but notice how the ongoing violence in Delhi was similar to the violence I had seen in Aligarh. Then, I began reading what many academics, including Paul Brass and Christophe Jaffrelot, have researched on the nature of communal violence in India. Brass’s thesis underlines how riots in India are never spontaneous, but deliberately ignited for political dividends.
This was also when Tablighi Jamaat, and Muslims in general, were held responsible for a pandemic, an unscientific and irrational idea that was pushed by Indian news media, actively proliferating hate against Muslims. Though I had been thinking about writing this book since 2016, these events eventually pushed me to turn my memories into a memoir.
It is a very important book, which effectively describes the increasingly divisive times we live in, from a Muslim’s perspective. Did we ever dream that India would come to this? Does this mean the wounds never really healed after the Partition? But you have said the older generation felt the situation was better earlier. Please comment.
I do think that violence against marginalised sections, including Muslims, has always existed in the country. Still, today, it has become acceptable in our nation’s consciousness, and to some extent, celebratory. For example, there are so many cases where men who commit lynchings and hate crimes, do simultaneous live streaming of their crimes as they attack victims. It’s an evidence of how violence against Muslims has become normalised in India; people are no longer repulsed by it.
I believe, as a citizen, I am an equal stakeholder in India’s democracy as my father chose to live here. He worked, paid his taxes, and is now buried here. Though the wounds of Partition have festered for decades, they are now being aggravated by putting salt on them. Earlier, when someone abused a Muslim, people would intervene. Now, most will support that action or reward those who kill Muslims. They will become heroes in their village or community, people will sing their praise on social media and ministers will garland them. In the older times, there was just physical violence, but now there is this mental and psychological violence. This hate is amplified by the Indian media, which has slid down to 161th place in press freedom rankings. It’s terrible for a nation that claims to be the largest democracy in the world.
Was it difficult to find a publisher?
No. It wasn’t, to be honest. Many publishers were interested in the book. It was a testimony that, if done right, there are takers for such stories. It’s just that most are just afraid to tell them.
What is the reaction of Hindus in Aligarh to the book? The feedback from the Muslim community in India and globally?
Strangely, in the polarised times we live in, both Hindus and Muslims in Aligarh and outside have liked the book. Because the book refrains from moralizing and simply recounts events from the perspective of a child caught in conflict, it hasn’t hurt anyone despite the provocative subject matter. Muslims in India and abroad, and frankly even Hindus, have connected with the book; they have told me it reminds them of their childhoods. I see that as a big win.
Did you feel a sense of catharsis after writing this book?
I did feel cathartic. I came to terms with layers of childhood traumas, and it was therapeutic. I agree with the researchers and academicians who say that the turmoil between Hindus and Muslims is not natural, but created for political and trade benefits — sometimes to polarize voters before an election, and at other times to acquire real estate at throwaway prices from the disadvantaged sections.
Anybody who investigates hate crimes can see that or just read reports done by many brave journalists who don’t bow to the powerful. This turmoil is artificial and a product of political and capitalist greed — if you dig enough, some local strongmen/criminals/politicians are making political or material profit out of it. An example is Indian media. Most TV news channels use Islamophobic messages to generate clicks and views on their content.
There is a strong injured tone throughout the book (despite all your hilarious escapades as a child), what were your feelings primarily while writing this book?
While writing the book, I was escaping from the realities of the ongoing second wave of the pandemic. Countless lives were lost in Aligarh and all over the country due to a lack of medical facilities, as brought out by many reports. However, the media narrative was mostly focused on demonizing Muslims and somehow shifting the blame of administrative negligence on a specific community using terms like corona jihad.
I wanted to escape these harsh realities by escaping into my childhood memories and nostalgia. Writing the book was my way of coping with the horrors of the pandemic during those strange and solitary times. I don’t think India has still properly processed or mourned the collective tragedy that was the pandemic.
In communal violence, both parties get affected. A criticism that is made against your book is that it focuses more on the plight of Muslims. Is this a fair comment to make?
I don’t agree with this both-sides narrative as it completely disregards the imbalance of the power dynamics. It’s unfair to equate minority communalism with majority communalism, as with the latter comes systematic support and fear of administrative action. Even if more Muslims die in the violence, it will eventually be Muslims who will be held responsible and incarcerated. As noted by the Sachar Committee report, the dismal representation of Muslims in official positions is one of the reasons.
I reported from my memories, but I made an effort to go to Hindu riot victims and write their side of the conflict, too. I have not demonized Hindus at all. Even Hindu intellectuals leave no opportunity to demonize Muslims for anything remotely possible. In riots in Aligarh, there is a vast difference in the number of Hindu and Muslim casualties. It was imperative to show this difference in the power equation, but the overall impact of the riots is also illustrated.
Are you in the process of selling the rights of the book for a film?
Not yet. I think the subject is too political right now to be faithfully turned into a film in the near future.
With the political landscape unlikely to change shortly, how do you feel about the evolving situation in India?
I see India entering one of the saddest times of its existence. At some time, this internalised hate will start affecting our children, a sad thing for the world’s youngest nation. The depression and anxiety that is slowly eating India from the inside will only grow in the coming years. If this situation continues, India will lose respect, business allies, and suffer trade losses. We can’t punish 200 million of our citizens without destroying ourselves in the future.
How are Muslims coping in this situation? What do you think they should do?
I think most Muslims are choosing escapism to deal with the times. Some youngsters are drowning themselves in substance abuse to face depression. The older ones have submerged themselves in a world where they think watching or liking a video on social media will help them or they are lost in an echo chamber where the opposition is doing great. Some have become more assertive of their identity or politically aware, others are immersing themselves in art or literature. I think Muslims should come together, create alliances with those who stand against hate and, at the same time, demand their political rights. At times, Hindus are deserting Gandhi and choosing Godse; they are the ones who need to reclaim the original idea of India. There is also an economic boycott Muslims are facing, so it’s also important for them to create their sources of livelihood while busting the myths being passed off as truth in popular discourse. Indian media should create avenues dedicated to ground reporting of hate crimes, instead of hiding them.
