Friday, September 27, 2024

GOOD BYE ARVIND GIGOO



                                     

GOOD BYE ARVIND GIGOO

                                                                            

                                                   

                                     (Arvind Gigoo)

 "I am where I am not,

Therefore, I am not where I am"...( Arvind Gigoo)

Arvind Gigoo is no more. How could that be true? I didn't believe it when my friend  I B Zutshi conveyed the sad news. I saw him on Monday, just two days back. He was certainly unwell and on medicines. He couldn't move and the laughter of Great Gigoo was absent. He spoke feebly. Agnishekhar and I were with him for about two hours. He was staying at Fortune Riviera with his wife and son Siddharth Gigoo. He arrived on Sunday and flew back on Wednesday to Delhi. He couldn't visit his house during this brief visit but expressed a desire to meet friends and well-wishers. Sarla Ji, his wife telephoned me and I informed Agnishekhar. Together, we went to see him. He shook hands and enquired about the welfare of our families in a feeble voice as his vocal cords were also hit by the neurological ailment. He had undergone prostate surgery. He was diabetic. Getting up and walking was impossible for him.  After every five minutes, he kept telling his wife to order tea which we firmly refused. Did he have a premonition about what was going to happen? Why did he desire to meet his friends?

 My friendship with him was about 10 years old.  Before that, I had never seen him either in Jammu or in the Kashmir valley. Before meeting him in person, I knew him well through his write-ups, books, poems and superb translations. He taught English at various colleges in the Kashmir valley. Many friends told me, “Beware! He is terrible with his pen”.  Those who knew him would often say that he was friendly, leisurely and above all helpful to the young and promising writers. Some people tried to introduce him as writer Siddhartha Gigoo’s father.  In any case, both happen to be brilliant writers.  In the very first meeting that I had with him, he turned out to be a jovial, candid and helpful person.  And then a very well-read and well-informed writer who dislikes people with doublespeak. “I detest double talkers”. The last trait also made him profoundly different from others; affable and respected.  I kept meeting him thereafter, mostly at his residence and quite often in the company of Ramesh Hangloo of Radio Sharda and once or twice with poet Farooq Nazki. He usually talked about his books, translations, future proposals and many other things from the world of literature and fine arts. 

 

Arvind Gigoo was the sharpest observer of men and matters that I happened to befriend in my life. He spoke one language and that too fearlessly.No double talk. He was neither secular nor never ever a communalist. He didn't practice spirituality or atheism. I didn't find him practising rituals either. As and when I met him, some specific couplets of Majaz Lakhnavi would often come to my mind. I quote:-

 

“Dair o kaaba ka me nahin kaayal

Dair o kaaba ko aastaan na bana. 

Mujh mein tu rooh e sarmadi mat phoonk

Raunaq e bazm e arifaan na bana 

Iss zameen ko zameen rehnay dhe

Iss zameen ko tu aasmaan na bana"

 

(I submit neither to a temple nor to a mosque

Make not mosque or temple, a shrine for me,

Blow not the divine spirit into my body frame,

Make me not the light in the gathering of the learned.

Let this land remain plain ground only,

Try not to make this earth a sky)

The terrorism in his native land had made him leave his home and take refuge in Udhampur and finally arrive in Jammu. He wrote against the terrorists and their sympathisers in his unique style. He wrote against many short-sighted and petty mainstream leaders.  Exile had touched his soul yet he retained his objectivity. Truth alone remained his tool.

 

In his essays, stories and cameos, he was Manto reborn. His language and sentence construction matched V S Naipaul. In many places, I found his writing style coming close to P G Woodhouse.  His humour was intense and apt. His observation was sharp and left nothing under the carpet. His scrutiny was more revealing than what is known as MRI in the medical parlance.  He was a mentor to many. He corrected the manuscripts of many books even when he had issues of eyesight. I don't think he ever refused to read and correct any manuscript brought to him. Manuscripts of my two books were read and corrected by him. He did some hobby art.  I saw and wrote on his beautiful driftwood sculptures.

 

                                                     

         ( Correcting a manuscript Photo..Facebook )

          

                                (Arvind Gigoo Photo…Avtar Mota)

 

ARVIND GIGOO THE TRANSLATOR

 As a translator, he brought new charm to the verses that he took up for translation. His translator’s note to the book "Light and Shade" Poems by Sunita Raina Pandit is unique and matchless.  This book contains Kashmiri poems translated into English by Arvind Gigoo. I quote the text of this note:-

 “While translating the Kashmiri lyrics of Sunita Raina Pandit into English, I resorted to compression, reconstruction and re-composition. I allowed the architecture and linguistic nuances of the original to suffer. I subverted without worrying about exactness, fidelity and accuracy of equivalence. I ruined the syntax, metre and richness of the original Kashmiri. The lacklustre voice is an artificial exercise in which the ineffable impact of the Ghazals is lost but their soul swings and rings. This translation does not communicate the music, rhythm, passion and transparent grace of the original…….. (Arvind Gigoo...... Translator)

 A sample of his English translations is as under:-

(1)

(Portrait of a Child)

 

A portrait hung 

on 

the wall. 

The chubby child 

smiled 

and opened his cupid mouth. 

I said, "Are you my virgin past?" 

  

The rainbow smile vanished, 

and the thoughtful child said: 

"Are you my defiled future?" 

  

 The answer reached me. 

  Grown-ups don't remember purity 

and children don’t know defilement.

 

(This is a poem by noted Kashmiri poet Arjan Dev Majboor translated into English by Arvind Gigoo and published in the book titled "WAVES”)

(2)

 (Spring-wind passed by our door)

 

Spring-wind passed by our door

and

with restive fingers

beat its breast.

I asked a flower, “What happened?”

In a corner

it puckered its lips.

Soon a dry petal appeared

and

the spring bushes

beat their breasts.

 

(From “Anecdotes “Mini poems of poet Dina Nath Nadim translated into English by Arvind Gigoo )

(3)

(The oil in the lamp dwindled)

 

The oil in the lamp dwindled;

the wick was a flicker

and

the light too dwindled.

A moth danced into the dying flame;

the half-burnt hope

fell into a niche.

When the flame died

darkness gave a hysterical laugh.

Why trust laughter!

Weeping knows no end.

Who lost

and

who won?

 

(From “Anecdotes “Mini poems of Poet Dina Nath Naam translated into English by Arvind Gigoo )

 

He has also done beautiful English translations of Hindi poems written by Maharaj Krishen Santoshi, Agnishekhar and Kshama Kaul apart from Kashmiri poetry of Dina Nath Nadim, Sunita Raina Pandit, Bimla Raina and some more poets.

 ARVIND GIGOO THE POET

 As a poet, he comes up with his own style and content which is philosophical yet simple. Apparent humour but a subterranean and profound criticism of life.  " I Am Doing Nothing " is a poem by Arvind Gigoo that I need to present to substantiate what I have said about his poetic talent.

 

“I Am Doing Nothing"

 

I dialled the number,

“Hello! “

It was my four-year-old granddaughter.

“Hello Amia, What Are You doing?”

“Dadu, I am doing nothing.”

Doing nothing is the acme of wisdom.

Silence prevailed upon the words.

I kept the phone.

People do because doing means living.

They are dynamic and hardworking,

And are busy in doing for their families, 

the society and the world.

“I am not greedy or ambitious.

But people whom I know and don’t know 

have sped ahead of me.

I do not want to sit behind.

I crave for recognition and a superior position “

“Do you watch the full moon?

And the stars and the clouds and the sunset?”

“The skyscraper blocks the view.

Have you seen the drawing room of Malhotras?

They have two more flats. 

And their new car!

It is very expensive.”

Dear reader, I will disagree.

Eating is a ridiculous activity.

The unmistakable rapport and the perfect 

friendship of the hand and the mouth keeps us alive 

and are the basis of life.

And we do for remaining alive.

We race against others 

and climb ladders to accumulate wealth.

We doom ourselves into doing, into exhibitionism,

Into show. We speed for we are in haste.

“Damn others, I want my buck. 

I will do it for twenty years and then live “

“So you will live in twenty years!?”

(Amia had said: I am doing nothing.)

Sitting still is doing nothing or doing nothing 

Is the cessation of all actions –Of the speed and the climb?

Doing is evil, curse, trouble, and unhappiness.

It is un-living or not living.

He said:” Perform duty without thinking of the fruit.”

Performing duty is attending to the ordinary 

and the commonplace.

Doing breeds endless desires.

“Why shouldn’t I desire the fruit of my doing? I want to prove myself.”

Doing is “enjoying. “

When doing is in the process of doing, souls and beings get defiled.

Doers stop doing.

As for me while doing 

I don’t – know- what I talked much and spoke nothing.

Do nothing and talk nothing.

Not doing and silence are inaction –I mean in–action.

What man needs is nothing.

No- thing.

Evil will disappear.

The inside will flower.

Your mind is a curse.

If you say ‘NO” to whatever “IS”

You will stop doing it and start living.

It takes a flash to stop doing .

Doing is undoing the you in you.

Do and suffer.

Don’t do and live.

When I stopped writing, the telephone bell rang.

“Hello!”

It was my sixty-year-old friend.

“What are you doing?’

“I am doing nothing.”

“You fool, stop this nonsense. Dress up, Come out and live. “

I am the contradiction.

I am the clever rascal.

I am the evil-doer.

I dangle between not doing and doing.

I live in silence and speech.

 

(Source..Sheeraza published by the J&K Academy of Art Culture And Languages..April- June 2009 issue)

                                                                                 

 ( Ayaz Rasool Nazki, Shadi Lal Kaul, Avtar Mota and Arvind Gigoo)    

                                                                  

      (Avtar Mota with Arvind Gigoo at Akhnoor)

 

A GREAT MASTER OF PROSE

 In his books and essays written in English, Arvind Gigoo uses small sentences with simple English words. Understood easily and effortlessly, this style creates a vast readership apart from making an everlasting impression upon the mind of the reader. In this style, he comes closer to Saadat Hasan Manto.  Like Manto, he spares none while dealing with men and issues in his books . No prejudices and no biases. He remains confined to objectivity.  With this approach, some people may get hit and some may get positively revealed, he bothers not.  His conviction remains “na kaahoo se dosti na kaahoo se beir “. Read him to know that he is a master in conveying the apparent and the veiled. I quote some anecdotes written by him as they appear in the book, “A LONG DREAM FOR A HOME “…Chapter … “Days of Parting “.

(a)    “Shaha, the old Muslim woman in our neighbourhood, tells me on the road, “What nonsense is this! We are fed up.” A Muslim gentleman joins us. Shaha now shouts, ‘We are prepared to die one by one for independence.”’ Searches and searches.  Deaths. Killings. It is horrible. A Muslim neighbour tells me in confidence, “I am afraid of my own son. Strangers are his friends.I have never seen them. “

 (b)  “We pack our things. Father is weeping. I ask Hafiz to arrange a truck for us. He says: ’ Go home. A minibus will come to you in twenty minutes but don’t talk to me on the road henceforth’. We put our things in the minibus very quickly. One almirah full of old books belonging to my grandfather remains untouched. I will come someday and carry them. These are rare books which my grandfather had bought in Italy, Turkey and other countries. Through the window, the daughter-in-law of Mohi ud din tells me, “Forgive us. Go wherever you want to go. May god protect you?’  She is weeping.” 

(c) His description of life in downtown Srinagar goes as under:-

 “The street urchins pelt stones on the houses of Pandits when a cricket match is played between India and Pakistan. Nobody takes such things seriously. Educated and illiterate persons rub shoulders. All steal electricity. Pandits celebrate marriages in the houses of those Muslims who have big houses. Carpets and furnishings are lent to Pandits for use all the day. Shias, Sunnis and Pandits live in harmony. Many Muslim families have leanings towards Pakistan.On two Eids, most of the Pandits go to Eidgaah. My Muslim friends come to me on Shivratri days and have lunch with me. Pandits and Muslims play cricket in Eidgaah. Others fly kites over there. In the evenings, some Pandits smoke Charas in the Janam Bhumi temple or in the compound of Ram Mandir. A handful of Pandits gamble in Ram Mandir. A few Pandits and Muslims drink in stealth. The quarrel of boat women lasts for days together. For onlookers, it is an entertainment of the highest type . Some young Pandits and Muslims steal hens and cocks belonging to a few Muslim families, kill them, cook them and eat them. The owners of the hens shout curses at “cock thieves “.   The lanes, Kochas and roads in our locality are filthy and covered with garbage. Jagan Nath Saqi, the well-known radio artist sits in the shop of Shamboo Nath (Shomb Kak) and talks about his past.  Pandits who now live in new colonies wonder how we Pandits live in the downtown.”

 HUMOUR AND CAMEOS 

If you need to read some serious humour and cameos then read his book, “The Ugly Kashmiri (cameos in Exile)”. Here he spares none in his crisp, brief and poignant cameos (180 in total) . He touches the very edifice of social life in Kashmir where he lived. He provokes you to think, “Was that life based on hypocrisy and falsehood? “ In this book, he talks about Pandits, Muslims, militants,  killers, plunderers, intellectuals, leaders, language and customs. The reader is perplexed by his incisive and scissor-like style that rips open everything for display. It takes some time to understand and comprehend what he actually intends to convey. I quote some cameos:- 

(1)

ROOTLESS 

"I am where I am not,

Therefore, I am not where I am"

(2) 

RENAISSANCE 

"We must preserve our culture."

"How?"

"By reviving dead rituals."

(3)

THE KILL 

“We salute this man for he is a martyr,

We kill this man for he is a traitor,

We nail this man for he is an informer.”

(4)

CHAMELEON

“From Pakistan to plebiscite to India to Pakistan to independence to anything and anywhere in one breath.”

(5)

EMANCIPATION 

"Listen! How can I talk about the plight of Kashmiri Pandits? I am a secularist."

(6)

IN TERROR 

"Mohammad Yaseen, Take this money that I owe you.I am leaving this place tomorrow"

"You nasty Pandit, you betrayed our cause. But accept this one thousand rupees from me for you will need them in the wilderness."

(7)

THE RESOLVE

“We resolve to preserve the Kashmiri language without reading it, without writing it and without speaking it"

“The motion is carried"

(8)

NOMENCLATURE

“Don’t call me migrant any more. This is insulting. I am externally displaced and internally misplaced.”

(9)

TOURIST GUIDE

 “What temple is this?”

“Takht-e-Sulieman.”

“What fort is this?”

“Koh-i- Maran.”

“What place is this?”

“Islamabad.”

“What is it famous for?”

“The slaughter of a ram.”

(10)

CRITICS

Some academicians compared the works of some exiled writers to those of Tennyson, Browning, Swift, T S Eliot, Herbert, Donne, Dryden, Orwell, Auden, Blake, Tagore, Lal Ded, Ruskin, Marlowe, Prem Chand, Chekov, Francis Thompson, Kahlil Gibran, Hardy, Tolstoy, O Henry, Chaucer, Maupassant, Saki, Thackeray, and Agha Shahid Ali... Even Rembrandt, Vincent van Gogh and Picasso were mentioned. They are the critics of the ‘Postmodernist Migrants School.’

(11)

RECORD PLAYER

My record player always plays my favourite song:

Wattan hamara azad Kashmir

(12)

LOVE

Don’t love your neighbour. Suspect him.

Love the distant enemy of your country.

 

FROM HIS UNFINISHED KASHMIR DIARY

 (1)

 

One day in 1989... I enter the classroom. I find many things written by the students on the blackboard. In Urdu, some students have written: ‘Pakistan zindabad’. I rub out everything except these two words. Students laugh; they know that I make them laugh. That is why I can teach. You can’t separate love from teaching.’…..(From.. My unfinished Kashmir diary by Arvind Gigoo)

 

(2)


‘Autumn 1989
…My son Siddhartha is taking the 10th class annual board examination in Higher Secondary School, Nawa Kadal. When he reaches home he narrates a horrible experience. He asks the supervisor to give him a continuation sheet of paper. The supervisor doesn’t give him the sheet of paper. He tells him: ‘You revise the answer script first. I will give you the sheet of paper.’ My son does so. The supervisor tells all: ‘Time is up.’ Son, Siddhartha is sad.’ ….. (From.. My unfinished Kashmir diary by Arvind Gigoo)

 

(3)

 

‘1989…In a matador, a Muslim old man says: ‘What is the meaning of all this?’A young man loses his temper and shouts at the old man. The old man keeps quiet.’ ….. (From.. My unfinished Kashmir diary by Arvind Gigoo)

 (4)

 ‘February 1990 ...Searches and searches. Deaths. It is horrible. A Muslim neighbour tells me in confidence: ‘Look here. Listen to me. I am afraid of my own son. I don’t talk to him these days because strangers are his friends.

I have never seen them.’ Pandits whisper to one another: ‘There will be an army crackdown. Run away.’ A Pandit organization asks JKLF: ‘What are we supposed to do in these conditions? Please tell us in ten days.’There is no reply. One Pandit is killed. Is this the reply? Pandits think about this killing very seriously. An Urdu newspaper Alsafa carries a news item: ‘Pandits, leave the valley in 36 hours’. Nazir Gash comes to my home with a copy of the newspaper. Every Pandit says: ‘We must leave by the 5th of March.’‘When are you leaving?’This is the refrain of Pandit conversation. There is terror in the minds of all Kashmiri Pandits. Mother comes from the market in the mornings and every time says: ‘Rainas and Dhars and Kauls have left for Jammu. Their houses are locked.When do we go?’She knows nothing about Jammu. Father has heard that there is a place called Jammu. He is not interested in this place.’ ….. (From.. My unfinished Kashmir diary by Arvind Gigoo)

 (5)

 ‘1990...Curfew for many days. All are confined to their rooms and houses. When I reach home I see my 10-year-old daughter rubbing with a pebble the two letters HM (Hazbul Mujahidin) written in green on the tin gate of our house.I stop her from doing so. I get a brush and a bottle of green poster colour and correct it. She watches the scene.’ ….. (From.. My unfinished Kashmir diary by Arvind Gigoo)

ARVIND GIGOO THE SCCUILPTOR

 

                            

                            (Arvind Gigoo with his sculptures)

 

 About his driftwood sculptures, he told me this:-

 “I had a habit of collecting wood from rivers, dry and dead trees, and stray pieces lying here and there and quite often from timber traders. A mere look at the piece gave me an idea as to what I could create from it. Sometimes I had something in my mind and there was a lookout for a suitable raw piece of wood.  Look, these are the tools that I use for making wood sculptures.  It is quite a tough job and not so easy like writing a story or essay or a poem. So many were gifted by me to friends. Some are still with me. Some are hanging on these walls.  It is love’s labour for me. I keep looking at these silent friends created by me and feel happy.  I remain thankful to my family for allowing me to do what I wanted to do. Believe me, we lived in a rented house at Udhampur and almost all the rooms in that house were full of wooden pieces and my tools at one point in time. If you live in a family, you are not supposed to occupy an entire physical space like that. Avtar Ji, Arvind Gogoo is nobody. Neither an artist nor a writer.  He shapes wood with his hands and tools. He shapes words into sentences with his pen. The mind is the source and he is trying to follow what his mind wants him to do with words and pieces of wood. ”    

 

                                                                         

                              

                   (A driftwood sculpture by Arvind Gigoo)

 Meeting him was a pleasure . Talking to him was a delight. In conversation, he enthralled and enthused his listeners. Himself, he was a great listener. He didn't keep age barriers. Like a true Mastana, he spoke what he felt and detested double-talkers. His conceptual framework about art, literature, music and theatre was clear. He had scripted a short film that he wanted to shoot using Makhan Lal Saraf as the lead actor. He narrated the brilliant script to me. Saraf suddenly fell ill. Then he was unwell. The project couldn't see the light of the day.

                                                        ( Photo by Dr  Agnishekhar  Jammu ..23.09.2024 )

                                                                   

                                                         

 Arvind Gigoo will be missed by those who knew the man. I will certainly miss him.  He was a Kashmiri at heart and a Pandit as well. Liberal, forgiving and patient. With his departure, we are fast moving towards," Aadam Qahat" or a drought in the field of fearless sparkling minds. My heartfelt condolences to his wife Sarla Ji and his family and friends. My sincere sympathies are for Siddharth Gigoo his brilliant son. Sadgati and Moksha to the soul that touched many hearts.

( Avtar Mota )                 


( This essay is a registered copyright material published in  Avtar Mota's  book, 'Kashmir; Men Matters And Memories'.   )


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CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
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