Community leaders from Tower Hamlets, London have started a campaign against the filming of Monica Ali’s 2003 novel Brick Lane. The novel was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, and was a big commercial and critical success. Reactions by many South Asian readers I heard from were mixed, mainly because of Ali’s use of a kind of pidgin English in the letters from the main character’s sister in Bangladesh, Hasina. (Our blog-friend DesiDancer also had a succinct review: “utter crap”, were her delicate, carefully chosen words)
Of course, the quality of the book is mostly irrelevant to the censorship campaign under way. This campaign seems to be an extension of the campaign against the book itself in 2003, and includes some of the same players and the same sad rhetoric of outrage and offense that is routinely trotted out these days in response to something or other:
In an echo of the controversy which surrounded the initial publication of the book, set partly in the east London borough, the novel is accused of reinforcing “pro-racist, anti-social stereotypes” and of containing “a most explicit, politically calculated violation of the human rights of the community”.
Community leaders attacked the book on its publication in 2003, claiming that it portrayed Bangladeshis living in the area as backward, uneducated and unsophisticated, and that this amounted to a “despicable insult”. (link)
The misguided attempt to protect the community’s honor through censorship will be ineffective, and the censorship campaign itself has the ironic effect of making the community look really, really bad. The leader of the campaign is making an only thinly-veiled threat of violence if film cameras are brought to Brick Lane:
He brushed aside suggestions that a work of fiction couldn’t be seen as an attack on a community. “It’s not a fiction book,” he explained. “This is all lies. She wanted to be famous at the cost of a community.”
He also claimed that community groups prevented Monica Ali from being awarded the Booker prize. “This book was contesting for the Booker prize,” he said. “We stopped that.”
Mr Salique raised the spectre of a worsening in community relations if filming goes ahead on location. “We are living in a multicultural society,” he said. “We are in a peaceful situation. This film will make a lot of problems for local people.”
He threatened mass protests if the company attempts to film on the streets of Tower Hamlets, saying that “the community feels strongly about this. We are not going to let it happen.
“Young people are getting very involved with this campaign. They will blockade the area and guard our streets. Of course, they will not do anything unless we tell them to, but I warn you they are not as peaceful as me.” (link)
I love the part where he says, “this is not a fiction book . . . It’s all lies.” Speaks for itself, donnit? And “I warn you they are not as peaceful as me” is a really ominous, nasty little threat, which I hope the filmmakers will ignore.
Here’s a paragraph from the novel itself describing the physical space of Brick Lane in London. Does it really merit this kind of censorship campaign?
A horn blared like an ancient muezzin ululating painfully, stretching his vocal cords to the limit. She stopped and the car swerved. Another car skidded to a halt in front of her and the driver got out and began to shout. She ran again and turned into a side street, then off again to the right onto Brick Lane. She had been here a few times with Chanu, later in the day when the restaurants smelled of fresh boiled rice and old fried fat and the waiters with their tight black pants stood in doorways holding out menus and smiles. But now the waiters were at home asleep, or awake being waited on themselves by wives who only served and were not served in return except with board and lodging and the provision of children whom they also, naturally, waited upon. And the streets were stacked with rubbish, entire kingdoms of rubbish piled high as fortresses with only the border skirmishes of plastic bottles and grease-stained cardboard to separate them. A man looked up at some scaffolding with an intent, almost ardent, expression as if his love might be at the top, cowering on the high planks or the dark slate roof. A pair of schoolchildren, pale as rice and loud as peacocks, cut over the road and hurtled down a side street, galloping with joy or else with terror. Otherwise, Brick Lane was deserted. Nazneen stopped by some film posters pasted in waves over a metal siding. The hero and heroine peered at each other with epic hunger. The scarlet of her lips matched the bandanna tied around his forehad. A sprinkling of sweat highlighted the contour of his biceps. The kohl around her eyes made them smoke with passion. Some invisible force was keeping them (only inches) apart. The type at the foot of the poster said: The world could not stop their love. (Brick Lane, page 32)
Now, if I lived in Tower Hamlets or worked on Brick Lane I might not be happy about the piles of rubbish Ali describes (from my own experience visiting the place five years ago, I don’t remember any piles of rubbish, though I visited in the middle of the day). But why are people always so quick to find characterizations like these “offensive” or “insulting”? Is it really worth rioting over?
btw, i wish other puns besides sikh punjabis would take up the banner for punjabi, its all of our heritage
The pan-Bengali identity is very strong in Calcutta. Bangladeshi theatre, music and art is celebrated among Calcutta’s artsy set and are regularly featured at Nandan, the Rabindra Sadan and the venerable Academy of Fine Arts (these are all theatres and venues of art in central Calcutta).
Rest assured the appreciation for Bangla culture is definitely not waning. I had the good fortune to be at the celebration of Tagore’s birthday (its an important day in the Bengali cultural calendar) at the Consulate in New York and was surprised to see an endearingly amateurish program presented by the local teenagers. It recalls my days in school in Ballygunge, Calcutta where we had a similar programme to celebrate the bard’s birthday.
It took me some time to get used to most of the heavy literary Bangla when I arrived on the scene as a Bombay kid in short pants. Fortunately, I had a clear singing voice and I joined in the festivities, singing the Rabindrasangeet that I’d always heard on the vinyl LPs at home. I am tempted to hypothesise that music and poetry are much better at preserving language since they are perpetuated by oral tradition.
Any cunning linguists in the house willing to explore my hypothesis?
i used to lurk at soc.culture.bengali, and sometimes the bangladeshis would taunt the west bengalis that calcutta was turning into a hindi city.
as for love of bengali, my parents do assert that knowing bengali is important because if you do not know bengali you are not part of the bengali people and you are not part of the spirit. the translation is a little weird, but you get the gist. when i was in bangladesh i did notice a trend though, acceptance of the fact that my bengali speech is childish, and my illiteracy, were taken with great equaimity by my extremely religious relatives. in contrast, my more secular relatives were much more concerned. so there is a tension here, and it has cropped up in bangaldeshi/east bengali society & culture since the 19th century when a bengali speaking muslim middle class emerged (prior to this time period of the muslim middle and upper class in bengal was urdu speaking of course, and my paternal grandfather actually comes from a ‘bengalized’ family as his father grew up bilingual in urdu and bengali).
and yes, closer than punjabis from pakistan and india. no offense to punjabis but they don’t seem to have a “love of language” in the way bengalis do.
RAZIB: Thats true. Hindi replaced Punjabi esp. for Hindu Punjabis who moved out of Punjab. Lala Lajpat Rai and other nationalists and Arya Samajis were pro-Hindi.
Come on now, what’s with the silly first comment. Too provincial and uninformed.
Razib brings up an interesting point. It is a well-known fact that there was a sustained effort by the powers that be to suppress Punjabi in Punjab. If you want to kill a people’s culture/core, kill their language…this is very true of what was attempted in Punjab in the seventies/eighties…
Seriously, Punjab and Sikhs come up often on Sepia and I find that many here can really use some more research in this area, whether it’s language, human rights, religious beliefs or the broader culture.
And yes, let’s not forget BHANGRA,which is a big part of our musical heritage. The rest of India seems so in love with it as well, so they stick it in every other bollywood film.
I’d have to credit folks in the UK and Canada for reviving bhangra many years ago in a way that you cannot help but love it. Way to go guys! Keep it rockin’
“Seriously, Punjab and Sikhs come up often on Sepia and I find that many here can really use some more research in this area, whether it’s language, human rights, religious beliefs or the broader culture.”
wut r u trying to say?
Razib – this is really fascinating – so prior to your grandfather’s generation, your ancestors and mine would have conversed in what language? English? I mean, would they have lived across the field from each other and spoken in different languages the whole time? (not that this should be overly surprising, I live in Canada where Anglos and Francos live in that exact manner…)
Btw – do you have any stories your family told you about Hindu-Muslim relations in Bangladesh prior to and during Partition? I’d like to hear from the ‘other’ side.
so prior to your grandfather’s generation, your ancestors and mine would have conversed in what language?
only my paternal grandfathers. the rest of my family wouldn’t have an issue, they were bangali through and through. my paternal grandfather’s family were the hereditary alams (prayer leaders) of their village, and, as my mother likes to joke, “they’re not really bengali.” i suppose they would have known some bengali, as their tenants (they collected land rents) spoke that language.
Btw – do you have any stories your family told you about Hindu-Muslim relations in Bangladesh prior to and during Partition? I’d like to hear from the ‘other’ side.
my paternal grandmother was born into a hindu family. they converted when she was a toddler. or, more precisely, her father converted and bought out his brothers’ shares in the factory they owned together 🙂 they moved to calcutta before partition, we don’t keep in touch with them. she subsequently married into the wealthiest local muslim family (see above), cementing the islamic status of her family (though they still keep a lot of hindu folkways, they were brahmins or something i think, and they have separate sets of dishes and shit for guests?). i recently also found out through and offhand remark by my mother than her father’s family converted relatively recently, within the last few hundred years.
in any case, relations? well, my maternal grandfather was the only muslim (bengali) doctor in several of the villages where he practiced as a child, and i can tell you he resented the hindus who were his colleagues as he was out of place. that made him rather pro-pakistani. in contrast hsi children and my father had to deal with muslim (bihari) domination, so they were more ambivalent about pan-islamism. so life history matters.
i think a lot of hindu-muslim relations can be broken down via class analysis. but, you have to factor in historical contingencies. my understanding is that muslim bengalis until the past hundred years or so tended to “urduize” themselves. when that path was blocked, something new had to arise, ergo, bengali speaking elite muslims. my family is evidence of the reverse, bengalization of urdu speakers (my paternal grandfather).
Unbelievable plot? Yes. Contrived? Yes. Offensive? Hardly.
I found Hasina’s story to be more compelling than wotsit’s (sheesh, forgotten the protagonist’s name). The English in Hasina’s letters was very annoying as it belittled her experience. If Bangla was their first language, why the hell would they write letters in English? And if the letters were written in Bangla and Ali had translated them to English for us, then why would it be riddled with imbecilic grammar?
The fact that the protagonist had an affair is less unbelievable than the fact she had an affair with a YOUNGER 2/1.5 generation dude. In Bangladesh, a female marrying/dating a younger guy is as much of a taboo as becoming a lesbian.
Apart from the protagonist and her lover, I think Ali captured the essence of British Bangladeshis living in Brick Lane quite accurately.
omg, dude, you saw my mom sing. that trips me out.
Anyway, I disagree somewhat, at least about bangla in india. My cousins who grew up in Cal speak a mix of (bongified 🙂 Hindi and Bangla and English in their daily lives because of their social circles and their schools. My cousins in Howrah probably speak more Bangla. My little niece and nephew in Delhi might not end up speaking very well at all–and certainly not reading or writing as well.
And of course there’s me and my pidgin New York Benglish 🙂 Ba-gel khabi? Schmear ni-e.
Also what no one has mentioned is that most of the Bangladeshis in the UK are specifically SYLHETI. My understanding is that they’re the “peasants” of Bangladesh with their own dialect, and there’s tension between them and the more “upper class” types who immigrated from Dhaka. My graphic designer bf (born in Dhaka) almost got lynched last year in Brick Lane by a mob of restauranteur goondas because he accused one of having no aesthetic (weird thing to want to knife someone for, but there you go — it was really about class in the end, I think), and his Sylheti boss had to step in and calm them down. When a long-lost cousin visited from Dhaka recently, he straight-up said that no one from their family should be working for Sylhetis, that it was shameful. My bf isn’t too concerned on that front, but he does constantly moan about how uneducated and backwards the UK Bangladeshis are, which drives his Satyajit-Ray-and-Tagore-loving girl cousin up the wall. So the discussion of what’s Bengali and what’s Bangladeshi probably means something slightly different in the U.S. and the UK.
I can’t quote percentages, but anecdotally I can confirm that the community of Bangladeshis vastly outnumbers the population of Indian Bengalis here in the UK.
There are Indian Bengalis around, but nowhere near in as many numbers as the various North Indian groups I’ve mentioned previously.
That is not true about Sikhs. Sikhs have a love for the Punjabi language that is more than the fact that it is a scared language for them. It’s a deep rooted love and passion for Punjabi that is even in the soul of secular non practising Sikhs.
I understand exactly what Jackson Paul is trying to say — and it’s very well-meaning — but can I just clarify that no language is considered “sacred” in Sikhism, including Punjabi. In terms of holy texts — of whatever religion — it is the meaning behind the words which is considered sacred, not the language in which the words are spoken/written.
However, Sikh scriptures (and the associated hymns) are written in Punjabi script — although the language used is not always Punjabi (it includes Persian, Hindi, “Braj” dialects etc) — so it is recommended that people should be familiar with Punjabi in order to help them understand the teachings when read in their original form.
The majority — although not all — of Sikhs are, of course, of Punjabi extraction themselves, so the language does have an added resonance for them due to that reason too.
I read the book and absolutely loved it. Here was an author who was not afraid of being truly and absolutely nonconformist. I don’t feel that there is a need for her to explain, in absolute terms, the reason one of her characters decided to write letters in a certain style. Though she sports an upper-class education, she has wholeheartedly seized the opportunity to enter the minds and lives of characters of a “lower” social stratum and makes some astounding discoveries in the process. While painters have experimented with colours and generated awe-inspiring works over centuries, writers have shied away from being original and have always catered to the whims of the dollar-wielding public that is mostly looking for a cheap and momentary “high” instead of a prolonged tantric orgasm that fulfils the libido as well as the soul.
A Rembrandt might be understood and enjoyed by everyone at a superficial level; but, a Munch will only be appreciated by the truly learned who have taken the time and displayed the inclination to understand the gentle undercurrents that coexist within the painting. Enjoying a Rembrandt is akin to enjoying watching yourself in the mirror, all kitted up in designer sports-wear, with the intention of setting off for a 10 Km run; whilst, appreciating a Munch requires enjoying the 10 Km run in itself, and most of all, the painful weariness at the end of the run (much enjoyment also lies in sipping some cold beer later on. But, that’s another matter altogether). Essentially, to enjoy great authors, one must be a great reader. You may not like Monica Ali, but mark my words, her writing is material that will become the text books your kids read tomorrow. Labelling Monica Ali to be “not readable” as she does not write in a certain style, prescribed by has-been booker-prize winners, is not fair on her; it merely questions your credibility to qualify as her reader. She is the future of English literature; that, and sheÂ’s hot! Peace
Yeah – James Joyce, Proust, Alain Robbe-Grillet, Vladimir Nabokov, Salman Rusdhie, VS Naipaul, Saul Bellow, they were all figments of our imagination, and nobody has done anything with the novel until Monica Ali.
.
Hold on. You are questioning other people’s credibility as readers?
Oh, I got it, you’re a prankster, right? Phew!
Digressing a little bit, because of the interesting discussion about Benglai dialects.. I have a question about the Kalighat on Bengal. I’ve just started reading “Mother India” by Katherine Mayo written in the 1920s (commented by people as one of the worst books written about India, Gandhi has supposedly referred to this book as a “drain inspector’s report”)..She writes about seeing “kids” being sacrificed in the famous Kalighat in Calcutta and supposedly 150-200 kids are killed (sacrificed) everyday.. Is she just lying or is there some truth to it. I was shocked to read that though..
Ponniyin, she means “kids” as in goats. And I think that part is plausible, though there are many, many problems with the book, starting with the fact that it was sponsored by the British Intelligence Services. I blogged about it here.
Mayo also writes about some really implausable stuff like hindu mothers feeding their babies Opium when they cry. Like most of her stuff I guess it has a grain of truth to it albiet greatly exxagerated.
Anyways read the Sepia Englih prof’s report on the book.
Amardeep,
Thanks for the info. that is a nice blog..
My understanding is that they’re the “peasants” of Bangladesh with their own dialect, and there’s tension between them and the more “upper class” types who immigrated from Dhaka.
my cuz (16) regularly gets beat up on his way home from school by sylheti kids. when my father taught at the local college in sylhet in bangladesh in the early 1970s the natives were clear about distinguishing themselves from “bengalis” (and “bengal”) as they still had an “assamese” identity (despite their language).
I didn’t even see Amardeep’s comment. And I spelt english wrong, ah well I just woke up…
Many syllhetis speak a language that’s virtually unintelligble to other bangla speakers and vice versa. This leads to some amount of frustration (in my personal experience) on both sides. Further, Syllhet is a place on the outskirts of bongland, so there’s a geographic element to this too (I don’t know enough to comment ont he class dynamics, but I wouldn’t doubt it). I’ve also heard that more orthodox versions of religion tend to proliferate there, but that’s just hearsay.
Thanks Razib.
Any other bengalis out there hear the story from their grannies about Dhaka muslin (before the Brits shut down production) – about it being fine and sheer enough, so that you could crumple it up and stuff it into a silver canister that fit into the palm of your hand? (There may be a bit of exaggeration involved here…)
matchbox..DQ 🙂
Not a Bengali, but I heard this: Take a mango and scoop out the seed. A hollow is created where the seed was. A nine-yard sari of Dhaka muslin can be made to fit in that hollow.
The more exotic the better in this case PGW 🙂 Mango it is, then.
I mean, who would have tried that, with the mango? Some bengali hubby trying to get back at his wife? Probably had to pay for it.
I have a very old great uncle who entertains me with stories about life in Bangladesh before partition, and in paricticular about our family place, which was called Kolagachi (literally, Banana-Treed). He paints it so beautifully it is like a dream – the river near the house where they took boat rides, the pond with enormous fish (the fish get more enormous with each retelling) which they would eat fresh every day, the fact that they would sit around and sing and write poetry all day. No one else in the family has any time to listen to these stories, and everyone thinks he is ‘wringing out the towel of Kolgachi’ over and over again. I love to hear him. I sit there in my jeans and inappropriate top and nasal accent and ‘attitude’, rapt and truly deferential for once. Everyone thinks its bloody weird my dreamer-jetu and I have this connection.
No, they were from Barisal and Jashore and moved to Calcutta before partition. I have heard similar stories about abundance from them. In post-partition Calcutta, it was a common joke among the ghotis that back in East Pakistan, all bangals were jomidars (landlords) with gola-bhara-dhan and pukur-bhara-maachh (storehouse full of rice and ponds full of fishes). Sure, some of the stories were hazed by nostalgic exaggeration, but most of what they said was probably true.
First time posting here, and i must say you guys have got quite an interesting discussion going on here.
Ponniyin Selvan you noted that the writer Katherine Mayo writing of 1920s Kalighat, Calcutta/Kolkata speaks of 150-200 kids being sacrificed everyday. I dont know the veracity of her claims since i have not read that book, but if “noro bolee” as human sacrifice is known in Bengal existed in Calcutta as late as the 1920s, then definitely me having spent all my college life in Calcutta in the mid 1990s, would have known of it.
That does not mean that “noro bolee” was not practiced in Bengal. It primarily occurred during Kali Pujo and Durga Pujo, where humans were sacrificed to the Goddesses and the practice was primarily the domain of the upper, wealthy classes and not something that was widespread among the population.
I believe that the practice started to die out with the advent and spread of British colonial rule in Bengal and by the late 18th century the practice had died out. However, I have never read anything where there was evidence that young children were sacrificed. I could very well be wrong about my assertion, maybe folks here could dig in on that subject.
related, perhaps we can in the future have a discussion on tantra and religion in south asia vis a vis ideas of human nature and sin
It was interesting reading some of the critiques made for Monica Ali’s “Brick Lane”. For ex:
Desi Dancer wrote “I cringe to think it would hold company with some of the previous Booker recipients”. Taz “I thought the book was crap, but my mother loved it”. Saurabh “They should be protesting over that being considered for a Booker at all. That first sentence is terrible”.
I actually found the book to be pretty interesting. Granted Monica Ali’s language in her first published work does not possess the lyrical charm a la Arundhuti Roy in “God of Small Things”. Compared to Hanif Kureshi’s inimical humourous satirical style in “The Black Album” a book of the same genre in that it examines the lives of Pakistani immigrant society in England and the growing fundamentalist radical streak among its members, Monica Ali’s “Brick Lane” and the manner of her writing style in which she describes the lives of her Bangladeshi immigrant characters is pretty dark and grim.
However, her book clearly illustrates the stark existential reality of underclass immigrants in a western land. The picture she paints isn’t pretty but hey thats reality and i for one who did not particularly enjoy her writing style nonetheless liked the book and how she approached the subject matter and drew a picture of a people, while not pretty, it was definitely illuminating.
Taz i think i know why your mother loved the book. I think she was able to relate to the characters in the book and the thought processes that were at work behind what they did and why they did. It is as simple as that.
The protests over the filming of her book reminded me of the protests that swept Calcutta during the filming of “City of Joy”, or the ones that occured in Varanasi that eventually stopped the shooting of Deepa Mehta’s “Water”, and how the protestors claimed that the film would paint the cities in a bad light. Having spent all my college years in Calcutta in the mid 90s, and having visited Varanasi and seeing for myself the dire hopeless lives of those widows, i could never understand the reasoning behind those claims. It was all bloody bull as far as i was concerned, where basically a bunch of backward thugs with a seige mentality were involved in organizing the protests, and the protests against the filming of “Brick Lane” reminds me of the same.
I got a few questions though and maybe the folks here could help shed some light on them.
As far as i know, Bangladesh during the language movement till its liberation struggle and some years thereafter was a largely secular society. What happened in between say 1975 and later whereby there was a growing fundamentalist radicalization and trasformation of Bangladeshi society so much so, that now the Razakars, a section of the Bangladeshi elite along with certain groups of people who actually fought against the Bangladeshi liberation movement and openly cooperated with the Pakistani army, in the slaughter of Bangladeshi secular liberal intellectuals and freedom fighters during the liberation movement, now have asserted themselves back into helm of Bangladeshi society and are now part of the ruling class? What changed? What gives?
Amardeep, this is all good stuff, but when will we get another piece on Punjabi Literature?
We Sylheti’s are a seperate ethnic group within Bangladesh. A minority of less than 10% back home but a majority in the UK and the US. We have our own culture, language, food and habits similar to but not exactly corresponding to, the Dhakaiya Bengalis.
The Dhakaiyas are only recent arivals to the UK. They arive on student visas and often don’t have a right of abode here. And Sylheti families of second and third generation girld and boys like me don’t want to marry Dhakaiya freshies from back home with their third world habits of controlling women and sending money back to their poor relatives back home.
Many Dhakaiyas are arrogant and think they are better than us because they come from middleclass families back home but fail to realise that most second and third generation Sylhetis are middleclass professionals bought up and educated in Britain. Many of these ‘intellectual’ Dhakaiyas can barely speak English but think they are elites!!!